The Joshua Monologues
by spitzthecat
Summary: AU. Josh & Donna. The Vagina Monologues and what comes after.
1. The Joshua Monolgoues

Author's Note: I am attempting to re-write this series to conform to the new standards of Fanfiction.net. It may take awhile. The complete and unabridged series can be located at http://spitzthecat.tripod.com.

"Damn it!" I hung the phone up in disgust.

"What's wrong?"

Josh was leaning in the doorway of his office watching me with a small smile on his face.

"My roommate and I were supposed to go see a show tonight."

"Yeah. That's why you browbeat me into letting you leave early tonight."

"She just cancelled on me. Her boyfriend is having a crisis." I took in the widening smirk on Josh's face. "Yes, her taste in men is as bad as mine."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I really want to see this show!"

"So, go."

"I'm not gonna go by myself."

Josh paused for a minute, like he was considering what he had planned for the evening. "I'll go with you," he shrugged. "I'll even pay you for her ticket."

I stopped fiddling with the paperclips on her desk and started to grin. "Maybe I'll see if CJ is free."

"Donna!" he whined.

"Seriously, Josh. You'll regret this and then you'll bitch about it for like a month."

"No, I won't!"

****

So, that's how we ended up here at the Kennedy Center. Tenth row center. Josh put on his tux when I returned from the ladies room in a black, slinky thing that shows more than it covers. My roommate and I were going to try club cruising after the show. It's opening night, so we aren't over-dressed.

"The V-v-vagina Monologues?" 

"You insisted on coming." I smirk, wondering how Deputy Downer is going to make it through this performance. CJ wants a recitation of his behavior tomorrow. She'd laughed so hard tears had come when I told her that Josh had invited himself along.

Josh turns in his seat and glares at me.

"Okay, bad choice of words," I concede.

"There are like 9 guys here."

"And you'll get to say words that you've never been allowed to say before," I mutter, flipping through my playbill trying to ignore his whining.

It isn't long before the house lights come down and the stage lights come up on three women perched on stools.

__

I'm worried about vaginas. I'm worried about what we think about vaginas, and even more worried that we don't think about them. I'm worried about my own vagina. It needs a context of other vaginas - a community, a culture of vaginas.

I think Josh just moaned. And I don't mean like that.

__

There's so much darkness and secrecy surrounding them - like the Bermuda Triangle. Nobody ever reports back from there.

Every woman in this place is laughing. Now, I've read the book and caught the end of the HBO special one night, so I'm pretty aware of what's coming. Josh is about to be blindsided by femininity. And we haven't even gotten to the good part yet.

__

Let's just start with the word "vagina." It sounds like an infection at best, maybe a medical instrument: "Hurry Nurse, bring me the vagina." "Vagina." "Vagina." Doesn't matter how many times you say it, it never sounds like a word you want to say. It's a totally ridiculous, completely unsexy word. If you try to use it during sex, trying to be politically correct - "Darling, could you stroke my vagina?" - you kill the act right there.

It's official, Josh is mortified. I doubt he has ever used the word vagina. We've barely gotten 10 minutes into the show and he's white as a sheet, deer in the headlights look plastered on his face. 

They blow through the introduction, which is just hysterical. Especially the part about the different names for it. Where I was growing up, we called it a coochi. 

Before you know it they're off and running with the first monologue. Of all of them, this is a little personal. Yeah, Dr. Freeride had a think about shaving me. It turned him on. It did nothing for me. He did it anyway.

__

If your vagina could talk, what would it say, in two words?

Slow down.

I think I'm going to hyperventilate. I steal a glance at Josh who has tears running down his face, he's laughing so hard. Who knew? The second monologue, I think will stop the flood of tears. Flood. Okay, so my choice of words tonight is questionable.

__

Down there? I haven't been down there since 1953. No, it had nothing to do with Eisenhower.

Nope, he's still laughing. Harder than I am. I reach over and smack him on the shoulder. "You aren't supposed to think this is THAT funny."

"I'm sorry," he gasps. "But my Aunt Frannie had a thing for Eisenhower."

Oh, I get it. Yeah, he can laugh that hard. I met his Aunt Frannie. She was, and I'm being polite here, a little on the repressed side.

__

The clitoris is pure in purpose. It is the only organ in the body designed purely for pleasure That's a higher concentration of nerve fibers than is found anywhere else in the body it is twice twice twice the number in the penis. Who needs a handgun when you've got a semiautomatic.

"Hey!" Josh leans over, looking indignant. "That's not fair."

"Life's not fair, Joshua."

__

This is how I came to love my vagina. It's embarrassing because it's not politically correct. I mean, I know it should have happened in a bath with salt grains from the Dead Sea, Enya playing, me loving my woman self. I know the story.

"Salt grains?"

His confusion is written all over his face. I decide to put him out of his misery. I mean, he could really learn something here.

"It's a chick thing, Josh. Shut up and listen."

He shrugs and returns his attention to the stage.

__

Then I met Bob. Bob was the most ordinary man I ever met. He was thin and tall and nondescript and wore khaki clothes. Bob did not like spicy foods or listen to Prodigy. He had no interest in sexy lingerie.

"Bob's obviously never met the right sexy lingerie."

I reach over and slap the back of his head.

__

I didn't particularly like Bob. I would have missed him altogether if he hadn't picked up my change that I dropped on the deli floor.

"At least Bob's a Democrat."

Another smack.

__

I went to bed with him. That's when the miracle occurred. Turned out Bob loved vaginas. He was a connoisseur. He loved the way they felt, the way they tasted, the way they smelled, but most important, he loved the way they looked. He had to look at them.

A tap on my arm this time.

"What, Joshua?"

"This is a rarity?"

I turn to look at him and he's more confused by this revelation then he was by the whole bath salt thing. "Yes."

"You mean, most guys don't stop to say hi'? So to speak?"

His forehead is doing that wrinkling thing.

"No. Shut up, we'll talk about it later."

"I want to talk about it now. Obviously, there is a problem here."

"Joshua," I nudge his chin with my hand and point him back towards the stage. They've moved into the one about rape and genital mutilation. I think we're both going to be sick, but Josh is especially green through the whole thing. The next one is lighter.

__

My vagina is angry. It is. It's pissed off. My vagina's furious and it needs to talk.

Sing it, sister!

__

Then there's the exams. Who thought them up? There's got to be a better way to do those exams.

I have to remind myself to breathe, I'm laughing so hard.

__

Why the rubber gloves? Why the flashlight all up there like Nancy Drew working against gravity, why the Nazi steel stirrups, the mean cold duck lips they shove inside you? What's that?

Josh has this little grin on his face and his eyes are shining with laughter. When he'd bitch about physical therapy visits during his recovery, I'd make him feel better with annual exam descriptions.

We laugh and smile our way through a few more stories. I'm starting to be glad I brought him. He hasn't laughed and enjoyed himself like this since You know? I don't think I've ever seen him enjoy himself like this.

__

I call it cunt. I've reclaimed it, "cunt."

Yes, his mother raised him well. Given the opportunity to shout /that/ word at the top of his lungs, he refrains. I, however, scream it out with gusto. Hey! We're reclaiming here. Shout it with me now! 

Josh just shakes his head at my inhibition.

__

There's the clit moan.

Oh my god. This is my favorite part. This is the part I caught on HBO, this is the part that made me go buy the book. I listen in rapt fascination and unabashed awe as the woman on stage moves through examples of all these moans and steal glances at Josh, who is laughing and shaking his head.

__

The WASP moan.

The silence on stage is shattered by the noise coming from the audience. Which is nothing compared to the moan coming from the actress as she demonstrates the:

__

Surprise triple orgasm moan.

The rest of the performance is really anti-climatic, so to speak. All that's left is a relatively new piece on birth, that neither Josh or I can relate to.

***

As we leave the theater and maneuver through the crowds, I am more conscious of Josh's hand, hovering at the small of my back. My vagina has no problems with thong underwear, in case you were wondering.

"Would you like to get dinner?" he asks, politely. 

Who is this man and what has he done with my boss?

"I'm not really hungry. I could stand to get a drink though," I reply.

We end up in a small, empty bar not far from the Kennedy Center. Josh goes to the bar and I grab a table for two towards the back. He has his tie undone and jacket slung over his arm by the time he delivers the drinks and a basket of popcorn. Oh, he's wearing the suspenders. Wow.

"Thanks for letting me join you," he says, setting everything down.

"You enjoyed it?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

He smiles and ducks his head. 

"CJ put $20 up that you wouldn't make it through the introduction," I tell him, taking a sip of the whiskey sour.

"Who took that bet?"

"Toby. He said you'd bail during the flood."

"Toby is as repressed as my Aunt Frannie."

All I can do is shake my head and laugh.

"Seriously, though. What's so special about this Bob guy?"

I'm saved from answering by the arrival of the cast and VIP party. It becomes obvious why this bar was empty. Josh and I both stand up when we see the First Lady enter. Some of the detail agents acknowledge us and that gains us some disdainful attention. Oh my, I haven't seen looks like this since Ann Stark sold Toby out.

Dr. Bartlet has spied us. Well, at least I don't feel like a pariah anymore. She makes a move to come say hello and is not five feet from us when she intercepted by one of the theater's PR people, who positions himself with his back towards us.

"Mrs. Bartlet. I apologize. We made reservations with this bar and your Secret Service people have had an agent here all night. I have no idea how anyone got in." His voice carries through the entire bar.

I don't feel like a pariah, I feel like a leper. 

Protocol, which we are both well versed in, prohibits us from sitting back down until the First Lady has acknowledged us and set us free, so to speak. So we continue to stand, the object of everyone's curiosity.

She nods her head at the PR puke, gracefully sidesteps him and, in a tone I thought was reserved for the President when he's being a jackass, says, "Well, I'm sure the agents guarding' the bar had no objection to their presence."

She takes another few steps and joins us.

"Josh!" He smiles and returns her embrace, kissing her cheek while she steals his beer.

"Dr. B. Zoey decide against joining you?" I shoot him a look, wondering just why he picked this bar.

"Charlie wouldn't come, so they went to some dance club," she replies.

"She was in my office today, talking about some show you wanted her to go to. She couldn't tell me for sure what it was though," he explains.

Have I mentioned that the PR puke is absolutely green?

Abbey nods and turns to me, "You look fabulous, Donna."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Off the clock tonight, Donna," she says with a smile, giving me a brief hug.

"Yes, ma'am," I reply to her laughter.

"I'm not sure I want to ask." She gestures at the space between Josh and I with his beer.

Josh has the decency to blush at her innuendo before liberating his beverage. The First Lady gets tight when she drinks beer. 

"Let me get you a drink, ma'am." He slinks away to the bar.

"My roommate canceled on me," I begin. "He invited himself."

Abbey smiles with a laugh, "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'd read the book, but it was a different experience to see it on stage."

Josh returns with a glass of wine for Dr. Bartlet. She thanks him and asks him if he enjoyed himself.

"Yes, ma'am. It was an interesting experience."

We've been joined by several people and Abbey decides introductions are in order.

The PR puke turns out to be a guy named Gerald, I didn't catch his last name. He introduces Abbey to the actresses and the director and a few other dignitaries.

Abbey, ever the woman I aspire to be, greets everyone with grace and turns to us, gesturing to Josh first. "This is Josh Lyman. He's the Deputy White House Chief of Staff." 

Josh smiles and compliments the actresses on their performances, mentioning that it was the first time he'd ever been offered the opportunity to use /that/ word.

The First Lady then turns to me, "This is Donna Moss, she's the Senior Assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff for Strategic Planning."

We spend the rest of our drinks making small talk with Abbey and the other VIPs. Josh is being so unJoshlike, I'm starting to wonder about an alien invasion. Invasion of the Body Snatchers, whatever. Do I look like a B-movie buff? 

We're both winding down and I indicate that I'm going to the ladies' room and then I'll be ready to go. 

When I re-enter the bar, I see that Abbey has Josh by his tie, speaking emphatically to him about something. She's drawn quite a crowd, Josh is blushing, stammering and staring at his shoes. Whatever she's saying to him is something he doesn't want to hear, but agrees with.

I save Josh from further humiliation and we say our farewells. As we leave the bar, he offers me his jacket for the walk back to the car. I'm not that cold, but I love wearing his clothes, so I accept.

"Feel like ice cream?" he asks, opening the car door for me.

What the hell? I'm more confused than ever, so I just nod.

He stops at this little Mom and Pop ice cream parlor in a couple of blocks from his place in Georgetown. I thought I had scoped out every ice cream joint within walking distance of his apartment, evidently I missed one.

"It's new," he says, channeling Miss Cleo. "They just opened last week."

I let him get the door for me. We order and sit down at one of those tiny, two person tables.

"What was Dr. Bartlet laying into you about?"

He's fiddling with his ice cream.

"She wanted to know just how stupid I am." 

The blush is back.

"Stupid?"

"Yeah."

"Meddlers." 

People think we're blind to the attraction. *Buzz* wrong answer. It's pretty much right there in front of us. We've been dancing around it for years. Occasionally, we'll get drunk and talk about what a bad idea it would be. We've got an informal agreement: we both date gomers with whom we have no future. 

When it doesn't seem like a bad idea anymore, the us-thing will happen.

I pick at my chocolate delight and sigh.

He sets his down and looks me in the eyes. "Tell me again why we're a bad idea."

Somehow, when I'm sober and he's asking that, the reasons don't seem so important.

"I can't remember."

He's invading my space. He's invading my space. He's Oh my god! He's a really good kisser.

It's gentle and soft, no tongues, no insistence, no urgency and it lasts an eternity.

"I should take you home," he says softly, breaking the kiss.

"Yeah."

He drives me home, to my apartment, and walks me to my front door.

"I had a really good time tonight, Donna."

I'm not sure what to say or do here. He's leaning against the wall, holding my hand, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of it.

"Thanks for inviting yourself along."

I settle for the teasing tone and banter.

He takes a deep breath and exhales before responding. "Donna, the last thing in the world I want to do is push you. Just think about it. If you decide it's still a bad idea, then it's still a bad idea. If not, then," he pauses to shrug insecurely. "If not, then we'll take it slow. For both of us."

"I'll see you in the morning, Josh." It's out of my mouth before I can stop it, sounding callous and uncaring. I lean towards him and kiss him on the cheek to soften the words.

"Goodnight, Donnatella."

"Goodnight, Joshua."


	2. What About Bob?

Previously:

__

Then I met Bob. Bob was the most ordinary man I ever met. He was thin and tall and nondescript and wore khaki clothes. Bob did not like spicy foods or listen to Prodigy. He had no interest in sexy lingerie.

"This is a rarity?"

I turn to look at him and he's more confused by this revelation then he was by the whole bath salt thing. "Yes."

***

She's kneeling on my bed and I'm behind her. It's ecstasy, it's glorious. She's screaming my name over and over. We're covered in sweat. Her chant of my name comes faster and faster as my voice joins hers.

I wake from the intensity of the dream.

And the ringing phone.

"Hello?"

"Get here. Now."

I look at the clock, it's 4:15 a.m.

"I'm on my way, Leo."

I won't have to worry about taking a cold shower after that.

***

He's got me in a position I have only seen in the Kama Sutra. All I can do is beg him to keep doing what he's doing. 

I wake from the force of my dream.

And my ringing phone.

I glance at the clock. 5:30 a.m.

"I'm on my way, Josh."

"Good morning to you too, Donnatella."

I hang up on him, dragging myself into the shower.

Standing under the hot spray, I contemplate last night. 

Josh thinks he's ready, even though we're in the midst of the campaign. Although it's not like we have to do anymore than show up until the Convention. Josiah Bartlet will be the Democratic nominee. We survived the censure, we can survive anything.

Oh never mind, this isn't about the formality of nomination that is the Bartlet for America II campaign. It's about the fact that Josh has decided he's ready for us.'

I need to make a decision. I really left him in limbo last night and that wasn't fair.

I'll make a list. Lists are good.

Reasons Josh and I should wait:

1. He's my boss.

2. Congress would find a reason to investigate us.

3. The media frenzy would detract from the campaign.

4. We would be a public spectacle.

5. My parents hate him.

6. We both have serious issues about making commitments.

Reasons Josh and I shouldn't wait:

1. Approval from Leo and the President negate argument 1.

2. What are they going to investigate? That I slept on the floor on the hotel rooms that he and Sam shared during the first campaign? Or that I share a room with Margaret when we travel now?

3. What media frenzy? 48% of Americans are lucky they know who John Hoynes is. Josh? 75% of Americans recognize Josh only as "the guy who got shot."

4. See number 3 above.

5. My parents hate him because he's my boss and they think it's his fault I never come home anymore. They'll get over it.

6. We love each other and if Josh can hurdle his commitment issues, I can work on mine.

***

The Palestinians started a new wave of suicide bombings and overnight they killed the U.S. ambassador's teenage daughter at a café in the Christian quarter of Jerusalem. Her husband was critically wounded in the same attack.

Al Caldwell and Mary Marsh are in the Oval Office demanding an eye for an eye. Toby is in his office working on a message of condolence to the Ambassador. Leo and I are in his office with Fitzwallace trying to determine what, if any, retaliation we can launch or what show of support we should give the Israelis.

It's going to be an incredibly long day and all I can think about is that dream I had about Donna. Is it me or are wet dreams always like the worst porn film you ever saw?

*** 

Last night redefined weird. Especially the dream part. Is it me or are wet dreams always like a bad porno? My daytime fantasies about Josh don't involve rough and tumble exotic sex; they typically involve ice cream and passion. I didn't even realize you could twist your body into that position and still have intercourse.

There's a note from Josh on my desk, next to a danish from the Mess.

"I'm in Leo's office. Cancel my day. Dinner?"

Josh brought me a pastry. Josh is asking me out to dinner.

This is wrong on so many levels.

I take a sip of my coffee and start reorganizing Josh's day.

***

Donna's waiting for me in my office after the morning briefing. I slump into my chair and try to lighten the mood.

"Tell me I don't owe Toby $20."

"You don't owe Toby $20."

Donna's got this smile on her face that makes me think Josh isn't always a complete and total Neanderthal.

"You owe Josh $20. He made it through the entire show and was a complete gentleman to boot."

"CAROL!"

Carol sticks her head in.

"Was it a full moon last night?"

Donna is laughing at me and Carol is looking at me like I've grown a second head.

"Never mind."

She closes the door on her way out.

"Sit down and dish, sister." I order.

She recaps the evening highlights, but I get the impression she's leaving something big out.

"Ice cream? He took you for ice cream in formal wear?" My God. Josh Lyman is a closet romantic. Who would have guessed?

We're interrupted by Toby knocking on my door, "Got a minute?"

Donna stands up, "I was just leaving."

She flashes Toby a smile when she squeezes out the door.

"Oh, Toby?"

He turns and looks at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You owe Josh $20."

***

I spent the entire day with Leo and the President trying to sort things out. I'm not sure if what we decided will have any effect on anyone, so I'm frustrated. In addition to being horny as hell. 

Wet dreams are not a sexual release for me; they have a tendency to make things worse.

It's almost 7:30 when I walk down the hallway towards the Operations bullpen, hearing the low murmur of female voices. Must be the weekly meeting of the West Wing Senior Assistants Association. 

As soon as they spot me, they break out into cheers, wolf-whistles and I think Margaret is leering at me. That thought drives me into my office, slamming the door shut behind me.

If you figure women out, please send me a memo.

***

Josh just turned bright red and bolted into his office. The sight of which brings more laughter and cheering from the gathered assistants. 

They came to get the scoop on the show last night. When I mentioned Josh invited himself along in my roommate's place, they wanted details.

I gave them the Reader's Digest version. Nothing about afterwards. Everyone thinks I'm lying about how well behaved he was.

See why I can't tell these people about the after part? They'd have me committed.

Our daily meeting quickly disbands and I knock on Josh's door.

"Josh?"

"If you're alone, you can enter."

I slip in and shut the door behind me. He's sitting in his chair staring out the window at the South Lawn. He looks exhausted, frustrated and like he hasn't eaten all week.

"Josh, when's the last time you ate?"

I'll go with the concerned friend routine, because I honestly haven't seen him eat since Monday.

He doesn't answer me and won't look at me. Which tells me he hasn't eaten anything all week except the ice cream from last night.

"Let's go get dinner," I tell him.

"I've really got work to do, Donna." 

Oh good, he's whiny, frustrated, exhausted and malnourished. Quite a combination for Josh.

"No, you really don't."

I cleared his schedule through Monday because I didn't know how long he'd be unavailable.

"What do you mean I don't? We're running a country here." He doesn't sound indignant, more like amused.

"I farmed out everything through Monday. If you come in on Sunday afternoon and read my index cards, you'll be caught up."

"You did what?" 

***

I'm in awe. She farmed out my entire weekend schedule? I'd seen my weekend schedule, it was packed. Baring an international crisis, I have nothing to do until Sunday afternoon?

She's giving me that look. That one she gives me when she's not sure how I'll react to something she's done.

"You didn't happen to make dinner reservations, did you?"

"At that seafood place south of the Hill."

She gets dimple treatment for this.

"Crabcakes, Donnatella?"

"Lobster, Joshua."

"Surf and Turf."

She considers this for a minute.

"Deal."

***

Josh drives. He just traded the Toyota in a couple of weeks ago. The new Audi has heated leather seats. A girl could get used to this.

We're not talking about work tonight if it kills us. Gossip about Sam and his latest fling, yes. Tension in the Middle East, no. He teases me for telling the assistants about last night. I ask him if Toby and CJ paid up, and if they did then he should stuff it.

Dinner is good. We split the surf and turf. Josh has them burn the steak. I get my lobster. We have crabcakes. Wait, let me rephrase that, Josh devoured the crabcakes, I got one. So, when the waiter brings the dessert tray, I don't hesitate going after the chocolate mousse cheesecake.

Cheesecake is like sex. It's a rich, creamy treat you can get addicted to easily. That didn't sound right. It's sensuous, silky, like a good lover.

***

Donna has this look in her eyes. I was not aware that cheesecake, even chocolate mousse cheesecake, could do that to a woman.

"Maybe you should get that to go," I offer.

If that's how she looks ordering it, I'm not going to be able to walk out of here after she finishes eating it. 

***

Looking at him, I'm really tempted to torture him by eating it here. I doubt he could take it.

I put him out of his misery, though, and tell the waiter to wrap it.

Leaving the restaurant, Josh has his hand on the small of my back. I never realized how often he did that until last night.

"Maybe we should go back to your apartment and discuss this whole Bob thing," I tell him when he opens the car door for me.

***

Guess she's made up her mind on what we talked about last night.

I slide in behind the wheel. "Yeah, so this Bob guy. Why is this so special?"

She looks exasperated, so I know I phrased the question wrong.

"Women like men to give some attention to their needs, Josh."

"I know that. What I meant was, hasn't, don't. There's no good way to ask this question," I blurt out.

"No, typically men do not spend a lot of time hanging out down there exploring. At least in my experience," she qualifies.

I have no experience to compare it to except my own, and I, personally, love it down there.

I ponder what she's telling me and feel the need to ask a couple of questions that will probably get me slapped.

"Donna, you don't have to answer this if you don't want to. And I understand if you don't. How much experience are we talking about here?" See I have this hunch that we're talking maybe three or four guys at the most. Probably all Republicans.

***

Do I lie? I mean, I have had a lot of sex, just not a lot of partners. There was Joey Hamilton, the football team's star wide receiver when I was in high school. It was a one-time deal and I don't think he was doing it right. 

Then there was Brian, otherwise known as Dr. Freeride. Brian liked to have sex almost every night, he liked to be on top, he didn't like foreplay and he didn't do anything he didn't like. 

Cliff Calley reminded me a lot of Joey Hamilton.

"Donna, I don't want a recitation. Just a general idea." He's prodding me to answer him.

"I've seen a copy of the Kama Sutra."

***

I know what to get her for Christmas, don't I?

"It's okay, Donna. I just, you know, don't want to pressure you into anything."

Our arrival at my apartment saves her from answering me.

Once inside, her nervousness starts to overwhelm me. I turn the CD player on to ease the awkwardness.

"Dance with me."

She gives me her shy smile, the one that makes me melt, and wraps her arms around me.

It's some new age jazz CD that Sam gave me last year, but it works. We don't dance so much as we sway to the beat.

I love the smell of her perfume. It doesn't clash with the lingering scent her shampoo leaves on her hair.

***

I rest my head on his shoulder, inhaling the remnants of his after-shave. Do I make the first move? Will he?

God, it's Joey Hamilton all over again.

That thought passes through my brain and in the next instant I feel his lips on my neck. The soft moan that escapes me is all about anticipation. 

My arms are around his neck, making his ears very inviting. While he kisses his way around my neck, I run my fingers behind his ears.

***

My knees almost give out when she hits the spot behind my left ear. We're going to need to relocate this activity.

I bend slightly, pick her up and carry her into my bedroom, sitting her on the bed.

She looks a bit taken aback by this maneuver. Oh, Donna, I think you've got some surprises coming tonight.

"I don't have to go back to work until Sunday?" I ask, unbuttoning her blouse and kissing my way towards her belly button. She has a beautiful belly button, it's an innie and she gasps when I stick my tongue in it.

I unzip her skirt and pull it off, still nipping at her belly button.

I'll never be able to concentrate at work again.

She's wearing garters and a thong.

I head north for my own sake, sliding her blouse off. When I start to undo her bra, she begins to assert some control, as if she doesn't want me to spend time on her breasts. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, I leave her bra alone and seek out her ears. She manages to get my tie off and my shirt unbuttoned. I stop long enough to shed my shirt and undershirt, shoes and trousers. 

She scooted up the bed while I was stripping. When I next look at her, Donna is a vision in black lace lounging on my bed, her hands covering her breasts.

"Lose the socks, Josh." 

Whoops. Forgot those, my boxer should go, too. Women steal my underwear all the time, but an old girlfriend once said she couldn't make out with a man wearing smiley face flannel boxers.

I stand at the foot of my bed, naked before her.

***

It's almost as if he's presenting himself for my inspection. I don't know when he hits the gym, but there's not a shred of excess fat on him. Oh, he's got some, but it's supposed to be there. No love handles, no paunch, nothing sags. His arms are beautiful. The scars on his chest are whiter than the rest of his skin, but to me they are a marvel. 

Well-muscled legs, I notice as my gaze drifts downwards. He's half-aroused from what little we've done. He crawls onto the bed after a moment, sliding his body up my legs. I've still got my stockings on. I should probably take them off.

***

"Don't," I say as Donna reaches for her garters.

She stops and looks at me.

"Leave them on."

"Why?"

"I like the way they feel."

I want this to go very slow. If it takes six hours to get to intercourse, it takes six hours.

Donna deserves to know what her body can feel. She shouldn't be ashamed of any of it.

***

I'm very self-conscious about my breasts. They aren't very big. Brian used to tell me about the women in the porn movies he watched in the frat house, how he wished mine were more like theirs. A few years of that would give Pamela Anderson a complex.

Josh is stretched out beside me. He's running his fingertips up and down my side, from my shoulder to my hips. His touch is so light; it's almost not there.

"Can I take your bra off?" He asks, nuzzling my shoulder. "Or do you want to do it?"

A choice? I'm supposed to make a decision while he's doing that?

"We can do it together," he suggests.

I feel him put his fingers on one side of the clasp and without really thinking about it I reach back with my free hand to help him.

He stops kissing me long enough to help take it off. One of his hands is resting on my stomach. Now with my bra off, he slides it up to cup a breast.

Fondling it softly, he sighs.

I knew it, he thinks they're too small.

"I thought about having them enlarged," I blurt.

Josh isn't kissing me anymore.

***

I prop myself up to look her in the eyes.

"Why?"

"They're too small."

She's blushing. She's cute when she blushes, it's not just her face, her entire body blushes.

I break eye contact to get a good look. I'm cupping one in my hand and it fits perfectly. I lean down and take the other in my mouth, scraping my teeth against the nipple.

No, they seem just the right size to me. Any bigger and I'd feel like I was neglecting something.

She giggles when I tell her that, so I shut up and go back to what I was doing.

***

Running my hands through his hair, while he proves to me just how perfect my breasts are, I stumble across that spot behind his ear again. In the living room he stopped, like he couldn't focus on anything when I touched him there. In bed, his entire body just shivered. I run my fingernails around the spot, trying to see what kind of reaction I get.

"Donna."

Never in my life has anyone said my name like that. He reaches up and takes my hand, pulling it away from his ear. I pout against his kiss and he smiles in response.

Josh guides my hand downward and I can feel what that did to him. 

"I can do that to you by touching a spot behind your ear?"

Who knew I could have this kind of power?

"When you put it like that, it's not so cool."

"I think it's cool."

For some reason, I feel more comfortable and playful now. I roll him onto his back and pounce on top of him. We both laugh as the tension evaporates.

"Any other spots I should know about?" I ask, pressing my body to his and kissing his neck.

"Isn't finding them on your own part of the fun?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"A dare."

It takes us hours to explore each other. Josh is amazing. I mean who would have thought this man who seems in tune with only his own needs could be such a generous lover? He found a birthmark I didn't even know I had. 

Exhausted and panting, I look down at him. He's smiling at me, dimples showing.

"Now the garters can go."

"You won't do it for me?" I tease.

I'm flat on my back before I know it.

***

I've seen the movie Bull Durham a thousand times. It's my Star Wars. It inspired me to become a great lover. Crash Davis is my idol.

Distraction is everything, so I'm re-exploring Donna's belly button. I've got the garters unhooked before she realizes I started.

"You're good."

I roll her stocking down one at a time. Slowly. The garters I remove with my teeth.

"You're very good."

"Tired?" I ask her.

She nods.

"A little."

I crawl up next to her, pull her to my chest and drape the comforter over us. It's just after midnight when I glance at the clock.

"So. What about Bob?" I ask her.

"Bob who?" She yawns.


	3. Spongebob Squarepants & The Church of Ba...

I'm trapped in the White House on a Saturday. I'm trapped here because I didn't go home last night. 

It started snowing late last night and as of 6am there are twelve inches on the ground and it's not supposed to stop snowing until tomorrow. The weather people on TV are calling it the freak blizzard of 2001. A week before Christmas. At least it'll be a white one this year. 

The forecast is calling for almost 20 inches before it's over, so I am officially closing down the federal government.

I start calling staff members so none of them try to make it in. Toby, Sam, CJ, Margaret, they all answer and promise to start the phone tree. Josh didn't answer when I tried him the first time. Stupid kid is probably on his way in.

I try his home number again.

"Hello?"

A sleepy female who sounds a lot like Donna just answered Josh's phone.

"Josh Lyman, please." I'll be civil, just in case it's not Donna.

"Josh, phone. Come on, Josh, wake up and answer the phone. Joshua!"

Definitely Donna. I can feel a grin tug at my lips.

"Hello?"

He doesn't sound any more awake than Donna. This is going to be so much fun.

"Josh, why did Donna answer your phone at 6 a.m. on a Saturday?"

"It's on her side of the bed."

He can't be awake, he would never have said that if he was.

"Josh, why is Donna in your bed?"

"LEO!?"

*** 

I'm awake now and mentally reviewing what has come out of my mouth. Oh, shit. I just confirmed to Leo that not only did Donna answer my phone, but she did it because it was on her side of the bed.

"Josh, when you come to work on Monday, stop by my office. Until then, don't come to work."

He sounds annoyed. Shit, shit, shit.

"Leo, look"

"Calm down, Josh. Have you looked outside? I don't want anyone trying to come in until Monday at the earliest. Call CJ, then enjoy your weekend."

After hanging up the phone, I crawl out of bed and peek out my window. Damn. It snowed. A lot. It's still snowing. Can you say blizzard?

That established, I crawl back into bed. 

With Donna. 

Donna's in my bed. Naked. I'm naked. 

There's only one thing to do in this situation.

Kiss her. Kiss her neck; kiss her breasts. Have I mentioned how cute her belly button is?

"That was Leo?"

Damn, I was hoping she had missed me screaming that.

"Mmm, hmm." 

Sue me, I'm a little busy here.

"I answered your phone on a Saturday morning at 6 o'clock and it was Leo?"

Maybe if I move a bit south of her belly button, she'll stop worrying about Leo.

I get one lick in and fingers pinch my ear, dragging me away from her warmth.

"OW!"

"No distracting me, Joshua."

I flop down on my back and pull her to my chest.

"He called to tell us to not come to work today."

"We weren't going to work anyway."

"All weekend actually."

"Why?"

"It snowed last night."

"So? It snows in Washington during the winter."

"It snowed a lot. It's still snowing. We're sort of trapped here."

And can I think of things to do to pass the time.

"What else?"

"I have to see Leo on Monday," I mutter.

"Great."

She's upset.

"I'm also supposed to call CJ and we're supposed to enjoy the weekend."

***

Bastard. He could have told me that up front.

"Go shower, I'll call CJ."

She'll take it better coming from me. If Josh tells her, she'll burst an artery.

He shakes his head, "I'll call CJ, then we can fool around."

I was going to join him in the shower, but I guess that can wait. Handing him the phone, I signal my agreement.

***

She picks up on the first ring.

"CJ Cregg."

"Hi, Claudia."

"Idiot Boy."

Someone is not in a good mood. No point in pussy-footing around.

"So, you're always my first call, right?"

"What have you done?!"

***

I've got a horrible feeling about this. Leo mentioned the dumbass hadn't answered his phone.

"I took Donna out to dinner last night."

Maybe this isn't so bad.

"And we decided it was time to change the nature of our relationship."

It's about damn time.

"I just wanted you to know, you know, in case you got the question."

"Is this for public announcement?"

I can actually hear him thinking. It's frightening.

"No. I mean, don't deny it, but we'd like to keep this low key and off the radar for as long as possible."

"Put Donna on."

"What makes you think she's here?"

"How stupid am I?"

***

Josh hands me the phone. It's hard to keep the smile off my face.

"CJ?"

"You held out on me."

"I wasn't sure."

"So, how is it?"

"Things are good, CJ, very good."

"You're gonna be sore on Monday."

"Bye, CJ." I hang up on her, thinking I'm already sore.

Josh is already kissing his way down my body, stopping once again at my belly button. I do not understand his fascination.

"What is your deal with my belly button?"

"It's cute."

"There aren't other parts of me you find cute?"

"I think your down there' is very cute."

"You can't call it my down there'."

"What do you want me to call it?"

Having no good answer, I try misdirection.

"What should I call your down there'?"

"Hmm." He thinks for a minute. His forehead gets all scrunched up, it's really quite adorable.

"Bob."

"Bob?"

"Yeah, Bob."

While I'm laughing, he sticks his tongue back in my belly button. It's becoming a serious turn on.

"Josh?" I say sweetly, reaching down and discovering that he's less than fully aroused.

"Mmm?"

"How about Spongebob?" I giggle.

He's licking me and it's impossible to concentrate.

"Okay, Squarepants."

I cannot argue with him when he's got his tongue in my Squarepants and his fingers are doing that.

***

I love the way she tastes. It's hard to describe, but it's the essence of Donna. I could pitch a tent down here and live happily for the rest of my life.

Unfortunately, Spongebob is not so spongy anymore and I think Squarepants is ready, too.

I reposition us so we're facing each other on our sides, our thighs touching.

"Feel flexible?" If she doesn't this isn't going to work.

She's touching that spot behind my ear again.

***

Am I feeling flexible?

"Sure."

What did I just agree to? 

***

When we're finished, Donna cuddles to my chest and quickly falls back to sleep. 

I brush the hair from her face and join her.

***

It's shortly after 9 when I wake up again. Josh is still out cold. We fell asleep in the same position we made love, how awkward is that?

I try to untangle myself without waking him so I can take a long, hot shower. God, am I sore. I think there might be chafing.

***

The absence of warmth wakes me. I know I fell asleep with a naked Donna in my arms, where did she go?

The sound of the shower starting evaporates my worry. I grab a pair of boxers and head for the kitchen to make breakfast.

My fridge has food in it. 

Oh yeah, the cleaning lady was here yesterday. I pay her extra to clean my fridge out once a week and restock, so I guess she's my cleaning and grocery lady.

I start the coffee, find some clean plates and start making french toast.

***

When I get out of the shower, the smell of warm maple syrup and the sound of Josh singing to Schoolhouse Rock assails me.

That's still on???

"I'm just a bill sitting here on Capitol Hill."

I dig through his drawers, searching for the cheesy cartoon character underwear I know is in here. I have long lived under the suspicion that Josh and Sam belong to some "cartoon boxers of the month club."

See? Here's the proof. A drawer full of them.

Wile E. Coyote? No.

Scooby Doo? No, those are Sam's. Don't ask.

Spiderman? No.

Spongebob Squarepants? Oh, yeah.

I grab one of his old t-shirts and head for the kitchen.

Josh, wearing nothing but Rubber Ducky boxer shorts, is cooking, dancing around the kitchen and still singing.

__

Well, then I'm off to the White House

Where I'll wait in a line

With a lot of other bills

For the President to sign.

At least I'm not the only one who learned civics from Saturday morning cartoons. 

***

The sound of giggling interrupts my trip down memory lane.

Donna found my cartoon boxers. I'm never going to see that pair again.

"Hungry?" I ask, gesturing towards the table.

"French toast and champagne?"

"I'm out of strawberries."

***

After breakfast we end up in the living room watching cartoons, giggling about how bad the new generation of Saturday morning viewing is. We agree there will be no CNN or C-SPAN or anything political this weekend. 

It's a Spongebob Squarepants weekend.

After three hours of watching cartoons and tickling each other, we're a pathetic heap on the sofa. I finally get up when all we can find are fishing and automotive shows.

I start digging through Josh's movie collection. I doubt he's gotten anything new, but you never know. It's a shrine to testosterone: the Die Hard collection; all four Stars Wars movies, the original ones twice; Under Siege; Lethal Weapon; Indiana Jones; Monty Python; the Chris Farley collection; everything from Adam Sandler. I hate all of these movies.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something that doesn't explode or revolve around fart jokes."

***

I keep the girly movies under lock and key. If Sam or Toby or CJ ever found out about the collection of romantic comedies and Disney flicks in my apartment, I'd be laughed out of the West Wing.

I pry myself off the couch.

"I'll find us something."

They're buried in my closet, in a box marked "Tax Records - 1986."

I find the one I'm looking for quickly and return to the living room.

"Will this work?" 

I toss her the tape.

"Bull Durham?"

"What? I'm compromising here."

"It's a baseball movie."

"You've never seen it." She can't have seen it. Bull Durham is not just a baseball movie.

"It's a baseball movie, Joshua."

"Put the movie in, Donnatella."

***

Josh goes to make popcorn and open a bottle of wine. I scrounge up some blankets and pillows.

We settle into each other's arms on the couch and I hit play on the remote.

"The Church of Baseball?"

"Are you going to talk through the entire movie?"

"It's a baseball movie."

"Donna, it's not just a baseball movie."

I still think he's rationalizing this to me.

Until Kevin Costner delivers that speech. About how he believes in the sweet spot, the small of a woman's back and the designated hitter.

I can feel Josh mouthing the words along with the movie.

"You have this memorized," I accuse.

He shrugs. 

"It's my favorite movie."

It's not long before I discover the source of his fascination with garters.

It's only 3 o'clock when the show ends, but it is already dark outside from the falling snow. We just sit in the half-light watching the flakes fall out the window.

"Josh?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want kids?"

***

I'm half asleep, completely content to stay here the rest of the day and she just blindsided me with one of those dangerous relationship questions.

I shift slightly under her, or having kids won't be an option.

"Little versions of you and me?"

She giggles a little bit.

"Yes, children."

I consider this for a moment. Little versions of Donna and me. A family. The idea comforts me more than I thought was possible and I hug her closer to me.

"Kids would be good."

"How many?"

Now she sounds unsure of herself.

"As many as we have."

"What about religion?"

I get the impression that she's checking things off a list. If she doesn't get them all checked off, I get the boot.

"I'm assuming the Church of Baseball is not an option."

"Josh. This is important to me that we talk about this stuff in advance. So neither of us is surprised."  
  
So we go down Donna's checklist about like I thought we would: in agreement. In less than an hour, we have a roadmap for our future. None of it is on a firm timetable, but we've talked about it.

***

I feel better having talked about that stuff. I don't want to be surprised in six months when we find out that we have completely different versions of the future.

Josh is kissing the back of my neck.

"Let's practice."

I'm pretty sure I know what he's referring to.

"Practice what?"

"Making babies. I mean, if we practice a lot, when we start playing for real, it ought to be easy."

Josh-logic.

"I want to eat my cheesecake."

***

Donna-logic.

We untangle ourselves from the couch and wander into the kitchen.

I dig the take-home box out of the fridge, grab a fork and hop onto the counter.

"Josh, that's my chocolate mousse cheesecake."

I grin at her. This has potential.

"Come here."

I gesture to the spot on the counter next to me. When she gets settled, I give her a bite. Kind of a reward system.

She closes her eyes and savors the dessert. I'm really glad we brought this home last night. I couldn't have handled it in the restaurant.

***

Cheesecake finished, I rest my head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around me.

"Bed, Josh."

It's all I can muster at this point and the weekend is only half over.


	4. Josh & Donna & Leo & CJ

Josh isn't in his office when I get to work, but CJ is waiting at my desk, wearing this odd little grin.

"Come with me, sister."

"CJ, I've got a ton of"

"Josh is in Staff, we've got plenty of time."

Oh.

She leads me to the mess, which is conveniently deserted. We stake out a corner table away from the main seating area.

"You held out on me."

CJ's looking at me over her coffee cup with a smirk on her face.

I'm blushing. I can feel it.

"I wasn't sure."

"Well?"

"Is that a chocolate, chocolate chip muffin? Do you know what the calorie count is in that?"

"Donna."

"CJ."

"Spill your guts."

You just have to love the way CJ just gets right to the point, don't you?

***

I'm sitting in Leo's office waiting for, you know, I don't know quite what Leo's going to say to me. 

I'm pretty sure that CJ is shaking down Donna since she wasn't at the morning staff meeting. Divide and conquer.

The door from the Oval Office opens. I'm about to get tag-teamed. Shit.

President Bartlet is looking me up and down, like he's trying to decide which don't mess with my daughter' speech he is going to use.

"We're just going to wait for Abbey before we start," he informs me.

I am a dead man.

***

"So, there was a lot of sex last weekend?"

If I weren't bright red already, I would have been after that question. She's dissecting me. It's not fun.

Maybe if I just admit it, this can be over soon.

"Yes, there was a lot of sex last weekend."

"Good sex?"

I sigh, there's no easy way out of this.

"Very good sex."

CJ's looking at me like the Cheshire Cat.

***

Abbey comes into Leo's office and we all sit. I'm trying to stuff myself into the corner of a chair and disappear.

The only feeling that compares to this was when I picked Elizabeth Johnson up for our Senior Prom and her dad threatened me with bodily harm if I so much as thought about doing something inappropriate with his daughter.

Except the part of Mr. Johnson is being played by the leader of the free world. 

"Joshua."

It begins.

"Has your doctor cleared you for the type of activities that Leo and my wife tell me you are engaging in these days?"

Hello Alice, I'm Josh. What's with the giant, white rabbit and the pocket watch?

Did the President just ask me if I was physically capable of having sex? 

"Oh, lighten up, Josh."

"Sir?"

"We're simply concerned for your health. You're not as young as you used to be." 

"I'm not exactly dead either, Sir."

"This is a highly aerobic activity we're talking about here, Josh. Men have heart attacks while engaging in sexual intercourse all the time. Very embarrassing way to go."

Abbey glares at the him before turning to me.

"Congratulations, Josh. I'm sure that you and Donna will be very happy."

I look down at my shoes; it's a nervous habit.

When I look back up again, the First Lady is smiling at me.

"Thank you, Ma'am." It's easy to return her smile.

"We're going to leave you alone with Leo now," President Bartlet says. "Leo, if you decide to go with Plan B, the Secret Service is right outside."

Leo shuts the door behind the Barlets with a shake of his head, then turns back to me.

***

"The kitchen counter?"

CJ is staring at me in disbelief.

"While feeding me cheesecake, CJ."

"What the hell are the logistics of that?"

Let us have a frank discussion about my new friend Spongebob, shall we?

"You've just got to slide forward so your butt is barely on the counter. He's supporting most of your weight. I'd recommend disinfecting before you use the counter for anything else, though."

"Where else?"

"Not so much where as how."

She raises an eyebrow at me. I take a bite of my muffin.

"How?"

"Let me count the ways."

"Donna, I have to work with this man."

I point my muffin at myself. "And I don't?"

"Yeah, but you're actually sleeping with him."

"Not so much sleeping, no."

"Donna!"

I am the picture of innocence.

"You started this."

My embarrass the hell out of CJ' plan is working well. I think I'll just continue.

"By the end of the weekend we'd covered most of the positions in the The Expert's Guide to Tantric Sex'."

"He does not have that book."

"Yes, yes he does. I spent Saturday night picking out positions I thought would be interesting."

"What? You just go I wanna try that'?"

"Pretty much."

"Kinkiest thing he did?"

Gee, there was so much. I have to pick one thing?

"We're laying on the couch watching TV and he's sucking my toes when he puts his foot up the leg of my shorts and gets me off with his big toe."

"His what?"

"Toe."

"He used his toe to"

"While he was sucking on mine."

"Oh my."

***

"Josh, I'm going to say some things that I'm sure you are already aware of."

The part of my father to be portrayed by Leo McGarry.  


"Leo"

He interrupts me.

"Shut up and listen."

Okay. I'll just disappear into this chair again.

"You are being careful, right?"

What am I? Sixteen?

"Leo"

"Tell me you are not having unprotected sex. This administration does not need the two of you becoming parents during the campaign."

I'm going to die. Right here.

"I'm having responsible sex. Donna's on the pill."

I can't believe I'm having this conversation with my boss. If my career were not in his hands, I'd be indignant about this entire thing.

***

CJ decides she's heard enough when I tell her about the toe sucking, she stands up so fast she knocks her chair over. Hey, she wanted to know this crap.

I'm humming the theme song to Spongebob Squarepants as we walking back the Operations bullpen. 

CJ keeps giving me a funny look.

No, I didn't tell her about that. There are some things a girl must keep to herself.

Josh still isn't back yet.

"What do you think Leo is doing to him?"

"Telling him to keep his hands off you at work."

"Like that's gonna happen."

Josh has always been a touchy-feely guy. If he doesn't touch me during the day, people will think something is wrong.

***

"This is what we're going to do. As far as HR is concerned, Donna is being reassigned to this office as the Deputy Assistant to the Chief of Staff. That means I will take care of Donna's performance reviews. I am assigning her to your office as the Senior Assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff for Strategic Planning. There will be no touching in the office."

"Leo, I touch Donna all the time. If I stop, somebody's going to notice and start asking questions."

"No touching of a sexually explicit nature. If I find out you two have had sex anywhere in the West Wing, I'll fire you both. I'm serious. Otherwise, when you are in the office, just do things like you've always done them."

That sounds reasonable.

"On the campaign trail, you will room with Sam, Donna will share a room with CJ. You will avoid all broom and/or janitorial and/or office supply closets; all restrooms with locking doors; if you are in a room alone together, a door will be open. I'm happy you've decided that this is what you both want, but your timing sucks."

These are rules I can live by.

"Donna should get a PO Box and change her address with personnel. That way, if and when you change your living arrangements, it's not immediately obvious. Now get the hell out of here."

I hadn't thought of that. Leo's really put some effort into this. It's rather frightening.

"Leo?"

"Yeah?"

"What was with that?" I crawl out of the chair, gesturing towards the Oval Office 

"He just wanted to mess with you. He's got three daughters, he's an expert. Abbey just thinks you two are cute together. She mentioned the show from the other night, by the way. Said you were the essence of decorum and a fine, shining example of how a gentleman should behave in public."

"Oh. She was drinking, you know."

"I figured that out when she described your behavior as gentlemanly'."

I stand near the door, hesitating. There's something else I want to bring up. Leo has turned his attention to the paperwork on his desk.

"Leo, I haven't said anything to anybody but you and CJ. I'm not sure I want to, yet."

He looks up from his paper and meets my eyes. "I'll tell him."

"Thanks."

"Get the hell out of my office."


	5. St Valentine's Day Massacre

I have never been so humiliated in my life. 

I'm sitting in the emergency room at GW at 2 o'clock in the morning, on Valentine's Day, waiting to see a doctor. 

The guy across from me looks like his girlfriend smacked him in the face with a cast-iron frying pan.

I, however, think I broke my ankle. 

Having sex with my girlfriend. 

Who is sitting next to me filling out stupid forms and giggling.

"Will you stop laughing?"

Donna just keeps writing. She hasn't looked me in the eye since the coffee table broke.

I don't know why she finds this so funny, she was on top. 

This is her fault.

It's a half an hour before they call my name and Donna helps me limp back to an exam room. We're there probably another twenty minutes before Doogie Howser, MD wanders in.

"Mr. Lyman?"

"Josh."

The med student they sent to examine me is engrossed in my chart.

"What seems to be the problem?"

The fact that my foot is dangling at an unnatural angle and my lower leg has swollen to three times its normal size?

"I think I broke my ankle."

"What makes you think that?"

He finally looks up from my chart when I don't answer and follows my gaze to my left leg.

"Oh. Well, then. Did you hear anything when this happened?"

Other than Donna screaming harder, Josh, harder'?

She manages to speak up before I can tell him that.

"I heard a crunch."

Hmm, I thought that was the coffee table.

"You were present when this happened?"

Thank God she has the decency to stop giggling and blush.

Thank God the kid has the decency to not pursue how' part of this travesty. 

***

They take some x-rays. 

We wait. Josh whines about how much his ankle hurts.

They develop some x-rays.

We wait. Josh whines about how much his ankle hurts.

At 4 o'clock in the morning, a resident wanders in to tell us the ankle isn't broken, but both bones of Josh's lower leg are. Just above the ankle. He's going to set them, cast it and send us on our merry way.

It takes an hour. He writes a prescription for painkillers, a prescription for physical therapy, hands Josh a set of crutches and kicks us out the door.

I run us by a 24-hour pharmacy before taking Gimpy home.

"I'll be back at 7 to pick you up. You've got Staff at 8 this morning." I give him a kiss for his pain and suffering. 

This whole thing is probably my fault. If you think I'm admitting that to Josh, you're nuts.

***

They gave me a waterproof wrap so I can shower, but when Donna gets back at 6:45, I'm standing in front of my closet wearing a shirt, tie and black boxers with little red hearts on them, laughing.

"What's up?"

"I can't get my pants on."

The painkillers I took have kicked in and they are moderately helpful. Therefore, I find this problem to be hilarious.

"Put your sweatpants back on. I know a tailor who can do a rush job."

***

I promise Josh I'll go shopping for him at lunch and get some cheap pants to have altered. 

My friend Mort, the tailor, does a quickie job on a pair I hate and we make it to work at 7:45.

Josh left the West Wing last night at midnight. People stare at him as he hobbles through the hallways, probably trying to figure out how he managed to injure himself in the brief time he was gone.

I'm volunteering nothing. Not even to CJ. 

If she wants to know about this one, she's going to have to talk to Josh. 

Now I know I usually tell CJ almost everything, but this is off-limits. She'll never believe it anyway, not after some of the crazy shit I fed her after New Year's. See, we celebrated New Year's by falling asleep on the couch watching Dick Clark. Obviously, I couldn't tell CJ that. So I made up some story about us having sex in the basement of the White House. 

I didn't know Josh promised Leo we wouldn't have sex in the building.

So I got busted by both Josh and CJ. 

Josh seemed rather annoyed that I was giving her details, whether they were true or not. 

He did get over it. Especially when I explained it like this: what's the point of having an ultra-adventurous, fantastic lover if you can't tell someone about it?

Yeah, I appealed to his ego. 

It worked. 

Now, he wants input on what CJ gets to find out.

CJ, on the other hand, doesn't know what to believe these days. 

I think she tries to confirm some of the stuff I tell her with Josh, but he can be pretty evasive. 

Particularly when it's the truth. He afraid someone will out him as a closet romantic.

So you see, if I tell CJ Josh broke his leg having sex with me on the coffee table, she'll think I'm feeding her a line of crap.

***

Sam, Toby and CJ are already there when I finally collapse into a chair in Leo's office. The three of them stare at me. CJ looks like she might start laughing. Since Donna and I started dating, CJ has worn that look quite a bit.

Leo sweeps in from the Oval Office, the President trailing along behind.

We start to get up, but he waves us back down. Leo wastes no time this morning.

"Okay, people, it's a busy day today."

"Leo."

Oh, shit. He noticed the staring.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"Why is everyone looking at Josh?"

Leo looks at me for the first time.

"Jesus, Josh. What the hell's the matter with you? What the hell are the crutches for?"

"I broke my leg last night."

Bartlet isn't saying a word, but has a smirk very similar to CJ's on his face. It makes me wonder what he hears.

"You were gone for what? 8 hours? In the middle of the night? What were you doing?"

I clear my throat, look down at the table and mumble, "Something stupid."

Although Donna thought it was adventurous' when she suggested we have sex on the coffee table in the living room. Let's do something adventurous' were her exact words. 

Leo decides to drop it when CJ starts laughing. 

I know Donna and CJ talk about our, Donna and my, sex life. It bothered me at first. 

The thing around New Year's really pissed me off. I mean, I promised Leo no sex in the White House.

Then I figured they would only talk about it for one of two reasons: it sucks or it's fabulous. 

From the things CJ hints at some days, I'm going with the fabulous angle.

CJ and I get held after staff. Gee, there's a shock.

"What happened?"

Leo sits down behind his desk.

"You want the details?"

"I would like to know how you broke your leg in the eight hours you were away from work."

"Why does CJ need to know?"

She slaps me upside the head. I'm wounded here and CJ smacks me.

"So I can spin your midnight trip to the emergency room at the morning press briefing. Unless you want me to tell the Press Corps that you broke your leg having kinky sex with your girlfriend."

I smirk. CJ groans. Leo pales.

"Josh, tell me you did not break your leg having sex."

I can't lie to Leo. It's like lying to your father. I stare at CJ when I admit it, though.

"Donna wanted to do it on the coffee table."

He slams his hands on his desk. "Oh my God."

"Oddly, they aren't as sturdy as you think they are."

CJ gets up. "I've got to go brief. I'll get the details from Donna."

That earns her a glare. She crosses paths with Abbey Bartlet on her way out.

"What the hell did you do?"

Leo excuses himself, I doubt he wants to be a party to this conversation. I can't lie to Abbey Bartlet either.

Once all the doors are shut, she props the broken leg on a chair, and starts poking my toes. Should my toes be blue?

"You know, Mrs. B, you don't have a license anymore."

I'll blame that on the drugs.

"Doesn't mean I'm not still a doctor."

She slides my pant leg up and prods the flesh above the cast, which is an unhealthy white.

"GW do this?"

I nod, then grimace when she raps her knuckles against the cast.

"Idiots. I'm going to give you the name of a good orthopedic. I am going to make you an appointment. Donna is going to take you. You are getting this thing recast."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Today."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, my husband seems to think this is funny. Why is that?"

"It sort of is?"

Abbey looks me in the eye. I blush under her gaze and look back down at my shoes. Shoe. Damn nervous habit.

"Donna thinks it's hysterical."

"You broke your leg doing something stupid."

If I have to cop to this, then I'm blaming my girlfriend.

"I'd like to preface this by saying it was Donna's idea. That said, the coffee table broke. I had my leg wrapped around the leg of the table for leverage."

I shut up when Mrs. Bartlet starts laughing. 

"So when the table broke, you and Donna landed on your leg."

The Earth could swallow me whole right now.

"Which then broke."

Please, God, strike me dead.

"I can see why Donna and Jed find this funny."

***

I'm sitting at my desk, going through the mail when Josh finally arrives. 

The look on his face makes me laugh. 

He must have had to tell someone the truth about what happened.

CJ came by earlier looking for the gory details. I told her to refer to it as a household accident. The press would buy that. Josh is klutzy sometimes. He and Sam almost set fire to the White House once. Danny, Katie, Steve and the rest of them shouldn't have any trouble believing Josh tripped over his couch.

"You're mocking my pain."

"Josh, I'm sorry. But it's kind of funny. Who did you have to tell?"

"The First Lady."

Oh. That gets my sympathetic look.' 

"Sam's in your office."

***

The groan I utter is not from pain. Sam is not in the Donna and I are dating' loop. Sam gossips like a teenage girl, which is the reason the entire White House knows I stole his Scooby Doo boxers during the first campaign.

I slam the door shut behind me.

Sam's sitting in my guest chair going through today's Post.

"What happened?"

He's actually concerned. Meaning he has no idea of the circumstances.

"Do you have plans for tonight?"

It is Valentine's Day and I had made reservations at a Malaysian place in Bethesda called Penang. We obviously won't be using them now and I don't want them to go to waste.

"Why?"

"Mine have a crimp in them. I've got reservations for two at Penang at 8:30. Do you want them?"

I honestly don't know if he's seeing anyone or not. I've got enough going on with my own love life.

"Yeah, I'll take them. Thanks! Anything I can do for you?"

"No, just get out of here and go work. You know, so you can get out of here on time."

Sam actually prances out of my office as Donna comes in with her notepad.

***

The first thing I notice it that Sam looks awfully happy. The second is that Josh looks like shit.

I shake my head after the prancing speechwriter. Yes, he's prancing. 

It disturbs me, too.

"Dr. Bartlet got you a 9:30 appointment. I cancelled your day. Get your coat, Spongebob. I'll drive you."

He smiles a bit when I call him by the nickname. That's a good sign. It fades as we make our way to the car, but we do make it.

***

Well, at least I won't need new pants. The new cast is considerably lighter. 

I'm not supposed to work the rest of the week and he gave me some better drugs.

Donna drops me off with a promise to home at 7. That ought to give me enough time to make us a nice dinner to make up for not being able to go out.

I did not procrastinate for Valentine's Day, you see. I had Donna's present ready the last week of January.

Lily, from the First Lady's office, called me just after Christmas and said she had some pictures of me and Donna from the Vagina Monologues post-party. She wanted to know if I wanted them.

I had the White House photographer enlarge my favorite to an 11x14. It's a black and white of Donna and I laughing at something. Her hand is on my shoulder and my arm is around her waist.

When I got the print, I took it to this guy, Pablo, that CJ knows. Pablo matted it and did a custom rosewood frame for it. 

Spectacular is the only word to describe the final product. 

Disaster is the only word to describe my current problems.

The gift is in the trunk of the Audi, which Donna is driving today. 

There is no food in my fridge.

Evidently it's Wednesday and the grocery/cleaning lady comes on Friday. That means I can't make us a nice dinner, which was my back-up plan for not going out to dinner.

I was a good boy and took my drugs, which is probably why I'm not very coherent right now.

The sofa looks very lonely. I'm going to keep it company while I think up a Plan C.

***

I get back at 7, like I said I would. It is Valentine's Day and I know Josh had plans for us. 

I am also a realist. If he took the drugs like he was supposed to, he's on the couch in a stupor. I stopped for Chinese take-out on the way home.

The scene is pretty much what I figured. The lights are all out, the TV is off and Josh is sprawled on the couch in a dress shirt, tie and sweatpants, snoring softly.

There's even a pool of drool on the pillow.

It's kind of cute.

Dr. Bartlet told me how to check the circulation in his toes before I left the office, so on my way to the kitchen I do that. 

Pinching his toes succeeds in waking him up.

***

Donna brought home Chinese food. That makes me feel like a complete waste of manliness. 

I have completely fucked up our first Valentine's Day.

It was going to be romantic, sweet, memorable. It was. I had plans. Grand plans. I even had back-up plans.

There was going to be dinner, dancing, the gift, incredible love-making. Or macaroni and cheese and cuddling.

Eating cashew chicken and taking my pain medication lands me in the bathroom retching my guts out. My leg is broken, so the dancing is out; the gift is still in the trunk of my car; and by the time I get cleaned up, undressed and to bed, I cannot begin to think about making love to Donna. I can barely wrap my arms around her.

***

Well, this day has pretty much sucked. 

As I snuggle into bed next to Josh, I decide we'll have a make-up day. Once he can function again. 

"Joshua"

"Hmm?"

"We'll have a do-over day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I had plans, Donnatella. Grand Valentine's Day plans."

He's mumbling and rambling, the drugs have started to kick in again.

"I know."

"I love you, Donna."

"I love you, too, Josh."

Maybe this day hasn't sucked so bad.


	6. A Mission from God

I'm on a mission from God. We've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses. 

You're not laughing. It's the cigarette thing, right? 

I am on a mission from God, that much is true. Matt's whining about being almost out of gas, it's noon, and neither of us smoke. 

We are wearing sunglasses. 

We are also listening to the Blues Brothers soundtrack, for reasons I can't begin to fathom. Unless Matt is secretly from Chicago or something.

I have enlisted a Republican congressional representative on my mission for a couple of reasons. One: he's a believable cover. My trusty assistant won't question lunch meetings with a congressman. Two: he will keep absolutely silent about the mission. Three: he has impeccable taste in jewelry. 

For the last two months we have power-shopped our way through every store in D.C. and most of the suburbs. I'm starting to think I will never find what I am looking for.

Let me just mention that power-shopping on crutches sucks.

I've been torturing this salesman for the better part of twenty minutes. He keeps showing me rings with huge stones and wide bands I just can't picture on Donna's hand.

Thanking the guy for his time, I turn to go. In that instant it catches my eye, overshadowed by everything around it. It is a slender, platinum band. Sturdy, yet delicate, with a beautiful diamond.

"Matt."

As he heads over, I ask the salesman if I can see it.

"Oh, man." Matt is speechless.

"Yeah."

I grin at him.

The diamond, though small, is flawless.

"Half-carat, marquee cut. There's a matching wedding band set."

I'm captivated by it.

Matt claps his hand on my shoulder. "That's the one. Don't think about it. What does your gut tell you?"

"I'll take it."

Donna's ring finger is a size 6, which happens to be fairly standard, so I can take hers with me. My wedding band needs to be sized.

I nearly choke at the total, but fork over the cash. Checks and credit cards can be traced. I don't need "Inside Edition" picking up on my purchase of an engagement ring.

I promise the guy I'll fill out the paperwork on the diamond when I pick up my ring.

****

Sitting in my office with the door closed, I see my future reflecting back at me in this diamond. I'm sure it's the first of many important purchases I will make in the near future. Donna wants kids. Okay, okay. Donna and I both want kids. Kids mean a house. I want to run for Congress when we're done in the White House. That means a residence in Connecticut and one in D.C.

Six months ago, the thought of a wife and kids, not to mention two mortgages, would have had me running for the hills. Today, I'm sitting in my chair with a stupid grin on my face. 

I hide the ring in my backpack and open the door.

"DONNA!"

She straggles the twenty feet from her desk to my door.

"You bellowed?"

"What time is it?"

"It's 7 p.m., Josh. Your watch sucks."

She's whiny. It's been a long week.

"Get your stuff. Let's go."

She presses her hand to my forehead.

"You feel okay?"

"I feel fine, Donnatella. Come on. Our reservations are for 7:30."

"You made reservations by yourself?"

Her disbelief wounds me. I mean, I managed to set up our Valentine's Day Do-Over date last month with no problems.

I made reservations at a swank little place Matt recommended for its' discretion and its' cheesecake. For reasons I don't pretend to understand, cheesecake gets Donna all hot and bothered.

You may ask yourself: "what about the ring?" Tonight isn't about me proposing, although I might, if it feels right. Tonight is really about getting down by the fire and making sweet love to Donna. 

We have a nice, quiet dinner and when the waiter recommends the cheesecake, Donna's eyes light up. 

We go back to my place after dinner. I barely have the door closed behind me when Donna captures me with a kiss that goes all the way to my toes.

She tastes like cherry cheesecake.

Her hands run through my hair and she rips my tie off.

"Slow down." I pant, breaking the kiss.

She's pouting at me, so I point a crutch, indicating my bedroom.

I follow her in, ditching the crutches along the way. I've brought hopping to an new art form.

Pulling her back to me, I slip the zipper on her skirt and it slides down her hips revealing black stockings and garters. No panties, not even a thong.

"You little minx."

She smiles back at me demurely as I unbutton her blouse. The bra goes next, but I leave the stockings and garters. I love garters, just call me Crash.

While Donna kicks her high heels off, I strip to my boxers and lean across the bed to my nightstand.

"Lie down," I gesture to the bed. "On your stomach."

I get a look, but she does as I ask. CJ got me some kind of girly massage oil as an "it's about damn time" gift and I have yet to use it. While she settles into a comfortable position, I shed my boxers. 

Donna gasps as I dribble some of the oil on her back. Carefully straddling her hips, I begin to rub it into her smooth skin.

Back rubs. They turn her on more than cheesecake. Once I learned that, I did some research of my own. I could be a massage therapist with all the books I now own.

"Josh."

"Hmm?"

"This is good."

My response is to lavish her body with attention, breathing a streak of coolness up her spine, following it with gentle pressure from my thumbs. I have never heard a woman moan quite like this. Donna usually talks during sex, which is fine. It helps me know what she likes and what she doesn't care for.

I have reduced her to moaning. 

Who da man?

***

I pull the comforter up around Donna's sleeping form before I go to the bathroom. I return and snuggle in next to the love of my life, wrapping my arms around her and tucking my head into the crook of her neck, breathing her scent in and whispering my love as I, too, sleep.


	7. Joshua, Queen of the White House?

Sam's been looking at me funny the entire staff meeting. Granted it is Monday morning and somebody always looks at me funny on Monday mornings, but Sam's looking like he's not sure whether to be pissed off at me or disgusted with me.

"Anybody have anything else?" Leo asks, surveying the room.

"Sam? Something bothering you?" I ask, putting him on the hot seat. He hasn't spoken to me since he had lunch with Congressman Leonard on Wednesday.

He squirms uncomfortably, looking around at each of us before he opens his mouth.

"Josh, is there something going on that the rest of us should know about?"

Leo and CJ hide their smirks behind their hands, even Toby seems to be smiling slightly. I'm a little confused about what he wants to know.

"Like what, Sam?"

"We've been friends for a long time, Josh. I think I speak for all of us when I say that I don't care if you are, you know." He starts to stutter, like he's not sure what he should say or how to say it.

Leo shakes his head. "Just spit it out, Sam."

"There's a rumor going around the Hill that Josh and Matt Skinner were out shopping for wedding rings together."

Complete silence descends upon the room.

I tilt my head to one side, a slight smile pulling at my lips. Oh, the places I could go.

"What if I told you it were true, Sam?" I ask quietly, insinuating truth in his misconception.

"I just thought you would have felt comfortable telling us, your friends, that you are" He trails off, like if he doesn't say it, it's not true. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. I would have thought that, is all."

That made no sense to me whatsoever. 

"That's it. Everybody out of my office, except for Josh." Leo orders, saving me from having to decipher what the hell Sam just said.

CJ exits last, closing the door after herself, but not before smirking at me.

Leo looks at me for a long moment and then starts to laugh.

I stretch in the chair, crossing my ankles. The cast came off last week and it feels so good to be able to walk on my own two feet.

"An engagement ring, Joshua? You took Matt Skinner ring shopping?"

"Leo, the man has impeccable taste."

"I'll give you that one. How long are you going to let Sam think that you're having a secret tryst with the Congressman?"

"Not long. Mrs. Bartlet and Zoey are helping me set something up."

He raises an eyebrow at me.

"For my proposal to Donna," I qualify.

"Get out."

***

"Hey, Donna. Can I ask you a question?"

Sam looks disturbed.

"Sure, Sam. What's up?"

"What do you know about Josh and Matt Skinner?"

"They're friends. Why?"

"No reason. I just wanted to know how much influence Josh has with him. I might need some help with something later this week."

"I'm sure Josh would be more than willing to help you out."

Speaking of the devil, I can see a mischievous little grin on my man's face as he struts down the hallway.

"In fact, why don't you ask him," I say, pointing out that Josh is headed our way.

Sam stammers something about a meeting he's late for and flees down the hall the opposite direction.

"Hey, what did Sam want?" Josh asks, picking up the mail and rifling through it.

"I'm not sure," I reply as I rescue the mail.

He fidgets some more, playing with a paperweight on my desk.

"What, Josh?" I ask, exasperated with his behavior already. It's only 9 a.m.; this is going to be a very long day of Josh-maintenance.

He props a hip on my desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Did Sam say anything about Matt Skinner?"

"Yeah." I pause, trying to work around Josh, before continuing. "He wanted to know if I knew anything about the two of you."

He doesn't respond to me, he just sits there, lost in his own little world.

I stop gathering files and slam them onto my desk, hoping to get his full attention.

"What do you want, Josh?"

"Sam seems to think" he starts and then stops, shaking his head. "Never mind."

I glare after him as he walks out of the bullpen towards Communications. A very long day, indeed.

***

I figure telling Donna anything could spoil the surprise. I'll just take Sam out for a beer tonight and fill him in, before he inadvertently tells Donna about the ring shopping.

Sam's in his office, hunched over a notepad, scribbling away. He jerks up when I knock on the door frame.

"Yeah?"

"You got plans after work?"

"I'm meeting with a couple of Democrats from Ways and Means at 6. I should be free after 8 or so."

He's twirling his pen between his fingers, Sam's version of fidgeting.

I lean against the door. "You want to go get a beer after? I need to ask you a favor."

"Yeah, sure."

He doesn't sound very enthusiastic.

***

We agree to meet at a grungy little hole-in-the-wall bar in Georgetown not far from my apartment. 

I'm on my second beer by the time Sam shows up, looking like his meeting didn't go very well.

"They give you a rough time?"

He collapses into the booth with his beer.

"Haven't you figured out a way to abolish Congress, yet?"

"Toby's on that."

"So, what do you need?"

"Sam, I want you to not be pissed off that I haven't told you this sooner."

"I knew it." He shakes his head at me. "I thought we were friends. Christ, Josh, I don't care if you're gay, but you could have told me."

"Sam, enough with the you-think-I'm-gay' routine. You're helping rumors that are going to seriously piss off my girlfriend if she gets wind of them."

"Your girlfriend? Is that what Matt wants you to call him?"

Okay, his snide remarks are starting to annoy me.

"Yes, Sam, I took Matt Skinner with me to pick out an engagement ring. Does that make you happy? Do you even care why?"

He drains his beer before answering.

"I couldn't care less," he states, standing up to leave.

I think Sam was late because Sam stopped and got drunk before meeting me. That really pisses me off.

"Sit the fuck down, Sam."

He complies more out of shock than anything else.

"The ring is for Donna, you jackass."

"Donna."

"Yes, Donna. I'm proposing to Donna."

"Donna, your assistant, Donna?"

"Yes."

"Wow." Sam tilts his head and looks me in the eye. "Sorry about that. Not about the proposing to Donna thing, because as far as that goes, I have to say it's about damn time you two got together. But sorry about the saying you were gay thing. How long has this been going on?"

Sometimes following Sam's conversational styling is like following a hockey puck on a power play. It's just all over the place.

"Since just before Christmas."

"You didn't tell me."

Great, now he sounds hurt again.

"We didn't tell anybody except CJ, Leo and the President. And I did tell Matt why I needed his help."

"Oh. I'm like what? Fifth or sixth? 

"Sam, give it a rest."

"So what's the favor?"

"If Donna agrees to my proposal, obviously there will be a wedding."

"That's generally the way these things go," he pauses to take a drink. "Unless she leaves you standing at the altar or something."

"I'll need a best man."

"Yeah."

"I want that man to be you."

"Oh."

We share a long look before either of us speaks again.

"Now will you stop telling people I'm gay?"

***

Since Josh is taking Sam out for a beer, I figured there's no reason the West Wing Senior Assistants Association shouldn't have a meeting of it's own.

Carol, Bonnie, Ginger, Margaret and I decide on an overly trendy brewpub near the Capitol. It's a place frequented by the Hill's interns and junior staffers, not unlike a college bar.

We've been here maybe an hour, catching up on the gossip from our relative departments, when Bonnie knocks me over with a bombshell.

"So, Donna, you and Josh are close."

I nod, closer than Bonnie knows.

"There's a new rumor floating around the Hill."

This could be good for a laugh. The last rumor about Josh was that he threatened to rip the Senate Minority Leader's heart out with a spoon. I later found out that he threatened to use a plastic spork. Rumors about Josh are generally pretty entertaining, because they're usually true.

"What is it this time?"

"Josh and Congressman Matt Skinner have a thing."

"A thing?" I want to clarify this.

Margaret, who sometimes has no tact, speaks up. "Josh is gay, Donna."

I choke on my drink.

Ginger pats me on the back. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

"I'm going to have to say I haven't heard that one, yet."

***

Sam and I hooked up with Toby, Ed and Larry after our chat, so not surprisingly, Donna beat me home. She hasn't exactly moved in, but she's here more often than not.

She took over half my closet and two-thirds of my bathroom. 

When we move in together it's going to have to be in a place with a larger bathroom.

I crawl into bed and wrap my arms around her warm body, nuzzling my lips to her naked back.

"You're home," she murmurs, rolling over onto her back.

I prop myself up on my elbow and kiss her lips.

She smiles against my kiss before pulling away.

"I heard a rumor about you today."

This could be bad.

"What's that?"

Her collarbone is in desperate need of attention from my lips.

"You're cheating on me."

I fake shock.

"With who?"

"Matt Skinner."

"Who told you that?" I ask, kissing my way up her neck.

She moans when I start sucking on her earlobe, squirming to help me hit the right spots.

"Bonnie, Ginger and Margaret," Donna tells me, her fingers toying with the short hairs on the back of my neck. "They heard it from an intern who heard from one of his classmates who is interning in the House Minority Leader's office."

Her fingers have drifted to my ears.

"Donna..." I'm the one moaning now.

"Josh, just shut up and prove to me you aren't gay."

Well, when she puts it like that.

***

Josh is waiting for me at Carol's desk when I get in at 7 a.m.

He hands me a steaming Starbucks cup, the official West Wing peace offering.

"What don't I want to hear, Joshua?" I ask, leading him into my office.

"So this thing with Sam yesterday," he begins, dropping into a chair.

"About you being gay?"

I'm giggling uncontrollably. I can't help it. I'm privy to some of the more intimate details of Josh and Donna's sex life. I can say unequivocally Josh is not gay.

Josh shrugs. In a way, it's easier if everyone thinks he is. Then nobody looks twice at him and Donna.

"Standard non-answer answer?" I prod. "The White House doesn't comment on the personal lives of the staffers?"

"Sure. Don't confirm, don't deny." He stands up to go.

"I feel like I'm trapped in that Nathan Lane movie where the two guys pretend to be straight. Except you're going to pretend to be gay."

He smiles at me. "Hey look, at least you aren't trapped in something like Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert."

"It bothers me that you've seen that movie. Although you, Matt Skinner and Sam in drag, singing show tunes to a bunch of homophobic rednecks in the middle of Alabama would be a sight to behold."

"As long as I get the Terence Stamp part."

"I feel a migraine coming on and it's all your fault, mi amour."

"Me? Cause you problems? Never, CJ."

"Five words, Joshua. Secret plan to fight inflation. Is Leo your next stop?"

"Yeah."

"You've talked to Matt Skinner about this?"

"He's going with no comment."

Ninety minutes later, I'm wrapping up the 9 a.m. briefing when I get the question. 

From the New York Times.

"CJ, does the White House have any comment on the rumors of a romantic relationship between Congressman Matt Skinner and Deputy Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman?"

I hand out my no comment' line and then get blindsided by a follow-up from Newsweek.

"There are also rumblings that they used the Defense Against Marriage Act to cover up their illicit liaison."

Who the hell uses the phrase illicit liaison' anymore?

"First of all Matt Skinner is an openly gay Republican. I, personally, don't understand his support of that Act, but I do know Josh Lyman spoke out loudly and publicly against it. I doubt they did anything in regard to the Defense Against Marriage Act except disagree. That's it. I'll be back at 3."

***

Newsweek's cover story this week is Gays in the Government.' They devoted a two-page spread to Josh, stating as a fact that he's homosexual. Which in and of itself wouldn't be so bad, but they also insinuate he refuses to come out of the closet because this administration is homophobic. 

Toby was so pissed off about them calling us homophobic, he pulled Newsweek's credentials for a month the instant he got his copy.

Josh and Leo talked it over with CJ and decided that the best way to handle it was to simply state that Josh feels his sexual preference is his own business and doesn't want to talk about it at this time. That didn't go over well in the morning briefing.

He's been scheduled to do CNN's Crossfire with Mary Marsh for over a week, to talk about the Education Reform package. Doing Crossfire is so much easier now that they're originating the show out of D.C.

The President has already absolved him of anything he says to her regarding the article.

Which is good, because we're almost done with the program and she's been hammering on him the entire show. Josh is doing pretty well; he and the hosts are trying to keep the focus on the bill. He hasn't said anything except this isn't the forum to discuss it.

They're wrapping up the show talking about religious groups and organizations like the Boys Scouts being able to use public school buildings after hours. I didn't quite catch what Mary said, but Josh lets her have it with both barrels. 

"Yeah, cause it's me and Matt Skinner spending quality time together at Big Gay Al's Big Gay Animal Sanctuary and surfing the highways on top of a big, silver bus singing ABBA songs and recruiting Boys Scouts for the dark side. What difference does it make if I'm gay or straight?"

"It's an abomination before God."

She's trying to suck him into a debate about religion. The show's hosts are just sitting there like they're watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Josh cocks his head at her like she walked into a carefully laid ambush. Honestly, if Mary Marsh were a canary in a coal mine, she'd have keeled over just from his look.

"I'll admit to not being as familiar with the Christian Bible as other people. However, and correct me if I'm wrong here, isn't the one of the principle tenets of Christianity that you believe Jesus Christ is the son of God and was sent to Earth to absolve humanity of its sins? In fact, if I were Christian, I'd just have to confess my sinful nature to God and he'd forgive me? Isn't that what good Christians are supposed to strive to do? Forgive one another for their sinful natures? Why do you seem to have such a problem with that Ms. Marsh?"

At least he didn't say anything about tax fraud. Mary Marsh is sitting there with her mouth hanging open.

Tucker Carlson pitches them to the next show and they're clear. Josh shakes hands with a couple of people and we head out the door.

"You were good back there," I tell him.

"Was I?"

"You were very good."

"Do I get a reward?"

"Maybe."

***

We're done for the day, so I drive us home. 

There's a message on my machine from Zoey telling me to call her; she's solved my problems.

"I'm going to take a bath," Donna tells me.

"Sure, I'm just going to call Zoey back."

I go out to the stoop to watch the sunset while I talk to the kid.

"What have you figured out?" I ask when she picks up the phone.

She sounds excited, so it must be good.

As she tells me what she and her mother discussed, I throw out a few ideas of my own. Before long we have a near perfect plan.

Which should be the first indication that something will go horribly wrong.

***

Josh comes into the bathroom just as I step out of the tub.

He's wearing this pair of glow-in-the-dark boxers I got him for Valentine's Day. In the light, they read no' all over, but in the dark, they glow yes.'

He calls them his I'm-gonna-get-some' boxers.

The only thing about our sex life that bothers me, and believe me when I tell you it doesn't bother me very much, is that Josh very rarely lets me take complete control. He likes to lead. I refuse to complain, but every once in awhile, I want to prove to him that I don't take him for granted.

He brushes his teeth and cleans the TV make-up off his face, slightly unsure of himself with me standing behind him and watching.

"What?" 

He looks at me in the mirror.

I step up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my body to his.

"I love you."

Josh turns in my arms, brushing a stray hair from my face. "I love you, too."

"I want to make love to you."

"You make love to me every night, Donnatella."

I trace the surgical scar on his chest with my fingernail. "I want to show you just how good you were tonight."

***

Donna is spread out on top of me, her weight a delicious sensation after what she just did to me.

Note to self, let Donna lead more often.

After a few minutes, enough blood has returned to my brain that I can speak again.

"Donna?"

"Josh?"

"There's a State Dinner for the German Chancellor next Friday."

"No, I haven't been able to think of a way to get you out of it yet."

I'm slowly stroking her back. "No, I want to go."

"You feel okay?"

"I want to go and I want to know if you will go with me?"

"Joshua, I always go to these things with you."

"No, Donna. I want you to go as my date."

"I figured you'd want to take Matt," she teases me. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

We spoon together. I relish the opportunity to spend quiet, innocent time together. 

"Oh, hell."

Donna snaps me back to reality.

"What?"

"My mom called on Sunday night and I've been meaning to tell you this all week. She and Daddy are coming out here with my little brother next week."

Donna's little brother Frederick is 17. She refers to him as the accident.' Her older sister, Patricia, is 32. After Donna was born, her dad had a vasectomy. Evidently, it wasn't as successful as it should have been.

"They gave you a week's notice?"

"He's making noise about wanting to go to Georgetown. This was the only week they could get a full campus tour and all that crap."

"When are they going to get here?"

"Saturday morning. They're staying until the next Sunday."

Have we mentioned that Donna's parents hate me on principle? Her family, and mine for that matter, is on the list of people who don't know Donna and I are dating. A list that seems to be shrinking fast.

Maybe Bruno needs me to go to Alaska and check in with the campaign headquarters


	8. The Best Laid Plans

I'm not so good with planning. I offer Valentine's Day as evidence. It's not so much that I am incapable of planning; it's Fate seems to have it in for me. That did not deter me from attempting some Memorial Day weekend planning.

My original plan involved spending the entire weekend in the office. When the President found out Donna's parents and brother were coming into town, he ordered us both to take a three-day weekend. 

Plan A foiled.

My next plan was to trade Bruno a date with Margaret for sending me to Alaska. I think it would have worked if Leo hadn't gotten wind of it, telling me Margaret didn't need a date and Alaska didn't need my presence. 

Plan B foiled.

I never got to Plan C, CJ threatened to tell Donna about my scheming. Never, ever fight the power of the Sisterhood. Margaret, in a huff Plan B was shot down, told Donna about my scheming anyway. Donna was then pissed at me for trying to duck her family.

See what I mean about the whole planning/Fate thing?

Donna did get over it after Spongebob, Patrick and Gary explained everything to Squarepants and the Wonder Twins. 

Hey, if she gets to name my nads, I get to name her breasts.

Anyway, all of that is to explain why I am standing outside the security area at National Airport (I refuse to call it Reagan) with Donna waiting for a Midwest Express flight from Milwaukee at 10:30 a.m. on a Saturday.

I've never met her parents, but I can easily spot Paul Moss trudging through the crowds. Donna is a striking image of her dad, only about three inches shorter.

I hang back a bit while they exchange hugs. Donna pulls me forward after they're done, to introduce me.

***

I introduce Josh as simply Josh. I don't qualify him as either my boss or my boyfriend.

Daddy is looking at him awfully weird. When Josh says hello and offers his hand, Dad shakes it, but with some hesitation, I guess is the right word.

Then I notice the copy of Newsweek he's carrying. Oh, great. I'm not going to say anything in a public place, but I will nip this apparent misconception in the bud. Dad goes to get the rental, while Mom, Freddy, Josh and I go get their luggage.

Like he always does when we're walking together in public, Josh has one hand in the small of my back as we make our way to the luggage pick-up. It's a safe demonstration of affection.

It makes my mother look twice at him.

I explain to Mom that Josh and I would like to take them out to an early lunch before they check in at the hotel. Mom agrees, all they got on the plane was a muffin.

By the time we get to the Hertz counter, Dad has the keys.

"Fracheli's?" Josh confirms with me once we've loaded their car.

"Yeah. I called Vinnie yesterday. Be careful, he's pissed at you."

"What now? This isn't still the spork thing is it?" Josh whines.

Vinnie Fracheli's wife has a serious crush on the Senate Minority Leader. Josh was banned for a month after he threatened to rip the man's heart out.

"Nope," I smile at him sweetly.

He groans in response before kissing me and heading for our car.

My dad looks upset by the kiss Josh and I shared. I guess now is as good as time as any to talk about the Newsweek thing.

I hold my hand out to him for the keys. After he drops them in my hand, I look him in the eye. 

"He's not gay, Daddy,"

Nobody says a word until I hit the interstate. Surprisingly, it's my mother who brings it up.

"How do you know for sure, dear?"

"Because I'm sleeping with him."

I've rendered them speechless.

"You're sleeping with that man?" I get the distinct impression that Dad is not upset because he thinks Josh is gay. 

I fear for Spongebob.

"Okay, let's clear something up right now." I'm driving with one hand and gesturing with the other. "That man, as you so rudely referred to him as, is Josh. The man I love. The man who loves me. He is the man I am going to spend the rest of my life with. The man who will be the father of my children, your grandchildren. I suggest you either accept that and be polite or after lunch you can head to your hotel and not bother to call me the rest of your stay here in DC. Oh, and forget about ever seeing the grandchildren."

That felt good.

"Donna, sweetheart, don't take this the wrong way, but after the fiasco with Brian, I question your taste in men," Dad clarifies. 

I don't blame him there. After the fiasco with Brian, I question my taste in men. 

Dad's rambling on about something, I tune back in to hear. "However, you seem to feel passionately about Josh being the one. I promise, I will reconsider my present opinion."

"Oh." Guess I over-reacted there. "It's been a long week," I explain.

"I can imagine." Mom leans forward from the backseat and pats my shoulder.

Josh is arguing with Vinnie Fracheli about something when we get there. Vinnie is this old, Italian guy, who knows Josh's family somehow. He's had Josh and me figured out since the day he met me. 

"Ahh! My Donnatella!" He interrupts his own tirade to hug me. He shakes hands with my dad, kisses my mom and tells Freddy to stay away from his granddaughters.

A dark-haired girl brings us a basket of bread after Vinnie seats us at his best table. Josh and I share a grin when Fred tries to flirt with her. After she walks away, Josh turns to my little brother.

"You know how Vinnie just told you to stay away from his granddaughters?" he asks Fred.

"Yeah." My brother sounds unsure of himself.

Josh nods after the young woman. "That's Connie. She's his granddaughter."

Vinnie must have caught the end of that, because when he sets two bottles of wine on the table, he looks sternly at my brother.

"You pay attention to what I said, young man. Or I'll have Joshua rip your heart out with a spoon."

"Spork." Josh and I both correct him at the same time.

He tells us what the special is, pours the wine and then takes orders from Mom, Dad and Freddy.

When he starts to walk off, my mom stops him.

"You didn't take their order," she nods at us.

"They order the same thing every time they come in here. Donnatella gets the ziti; Joshua gets the manicotti with two meatballs. Then, they fight over who gets to eat what."

***

I'm laughing at Donna, who has turned bright red. Her parents are smiling as well. They're starting to loosen up a bit.

Bringing them here was a good idea.

I guess I should explain this whole Vinnie Fracheli thing. He was in Europe with the Army during World War II and helped a bunch of Polish Jews escape from Russian-occupied territory after the liberation of Auschwitz and Birkenau. One of those people was my grandfather, who kept in touch with Vinnie over the years. About 30 years ago, my dad loaned Vinnie the money to keep this place open and make some renovations. The loan has been long paid back and Vinnie even gave me a job waiting tables when I was an intern on the Hill, but I've never been allowed to pay for a meal here.

That's what he and I were arguing about earlier.

They all make small talk about family until the food comes and true to form, Donna goes after one of my meatballs.

"Ouch!"

Deborah looks over, slightly concerned.

"He stabbed me," Donna whines.

"You want a meatball, tell Vinnie. He'll bring you your own," I retort.

She gives me the pouty face.

"All I want is half of one of yours, Josh. It's not unreasonable."

For some reason, Vinnie's wife Rose makes her appearance at this point by smacking the back of my head

She's been doing that since the day I was born, I swear to God.

"Share with Donna, Joshua. Or I'll kick you out of here for another month."

"Kick me out again and I'll tell Toby the real reason I was banned last time. He'll take you off the authorized delivery list so fast it'll make your head spin," I tell her.

"Don't use your lines on me, boy. I'll call your mother." She tells me off before turning to Donna. "What do you see in this politician?"

Notice she calls me boy'? I'm forty years old, Rose still calls me boy.'

"Rose, he stabbed me with his fork." The ever-faithful Donna rats me out.

"At least it wasn't a spork," Paul pipes up from the other side of the table.

***

You bring up a spork and I have to giggle. It's the word itself. Spork. Kind of like vagina isn't it? Or not.

Rosie just shakes her head before stalking back to the kitchen.

My mother stares at her antipasti for a moment before asking, "What's the story with the spork?"

"You tell it," I say to Josh, taking the meatball he's offering me.

He blushes slightly. I haven't even heard the whole story, but Leo forbade me to send an apology note.

"I was having a discussion with Senator Calhoun, the Senate Minority Leader, about the abstinence rider the Republicans attached to the education reform bill. He made some comment about how if they'd taught abstinence in schools 10 years ago, maybe Charlie would know enough to keep his hands off the President's daughter. I told him that if he ever talked about Charlie or Zoey that way again, I'd rip his heart out with a spork."

"Charlie Young is the President's personal aide. He's been dating Zoey Bartlet for a couple of years," I fill in some details for my parents.

Dad is nodding his approval of Josh's actions.

We spend the rest of lunch talking about the sights they want to see and when would be a good time to go where. We decide to let them get settled into the hotel and then go down to the Mall this afternoon. Connie comes back to offer us desert, but nobody has room for anything more.

"I think we'll just take the check," Dad offers.

She nods and heads off to talk to Vinnie.

"Donna, why don't you get the car," Josh says. "I'll settle up with Vinnie."

***

I'm not even allowed to leave a tip in this place, but I don't want to explain it to Paul and Deb.

Her dad gives me a funny look, but heads out the door with Donna.

I thank Vinnie for his hospitality. He yells at me for not bringing Donna by more often.

"If you'd let me pay for a meal once in a while, old man, we'd come in here more often."

"When are you going to do right by that girl?"

Vinnie can change the subject faster than anyone I know, including Donna.

I grin at him and pull the ring box out of my pocket. I got it out of the safety deposit box last Friday afternoon, with the intent to hide it in my office until this Friday.

"Very nice," he comments. "Come back when it's on her finger."

"Thanks, Vinnie."

***

"Josh didn't have to pay for lunch," Dad says while we wait.

"Daddy, don't make a fuss. He wanted to."

That part is true. Vinnie just won't let him. I don't completely understand the situation; Josh never seems willing to talk about it when I try to weasel it out of him.

He comes out of the restaurant just after I finish giving my parents directions to the hotel I was ordered set them up in.

Anyway, Mom, Dad and Freddy are going to go check in. Josh and I are going to head back to his place to clean up, since we both sort of overslept' this morning.

"I've got 12:30 right now," Mom tells me, verifying the time.

"We'll meet you at the hotel at 2 o'clock."

When she nods her agreement, I hand her Josh's home number. "Call if you have any problems."

***

We do finally get around to actually showering.

Which is when I discover I left a small hickey behind Josh's ear.

"Whoops!" I tell him after he notices it in the mirror.

"I've been branded!" he declares in mock horror.

I throw a t-shirt at him.

"Like you don't do that to me all the time. Hurry up. We're going to be late."

"I suppose it would be bad if we were almost late to see your family twice in one day because we were practicing."

"Sex, Josh. It's sex. You can say the word."

Pulling his sandals on in an effort to comply with my demand to hurry up, he shoots me a look.

"I can say the word sex. I prefer, however, to think of it as baby-making practice."

Have I ever mentioned how weird Josh can be?

Standing up, he puts his hands on his hips.

"Am I presentable?"

I survey his outfit: sandals, no socks; well-worn blue jeans with a hole in the butt revealing a little bit of Aquaman boxer shorts; and a gray t-shirt with a giant Democratic donkey and the words Vote for him instead' emblazoned on the back.

The front says Don't feed the jackass.'

I have no idea where he got that shirt, but I'm stealing it.

***

We're only a few minutes late to meet my family. Since it's only a short distance from the Willard to the Mall, we decide to walk.

I tend to forget how long Josh has lived in Washington, until he decides to play tour guide. We're walk down Pennsylvania Avenue with him explaining some obscure bit of political history to my dad and pointing out the odd landmark to my mom.

Freddy wants to go to the top of the Washington Monument. We decide to do that first, since it's only open until 4:30. Mom hates heights, so she, Dad and Josh agree to wait, while I go up with Fred.

***

The first thing I did when I came to DC as an intern was to go to the top of the Monument. It's a spectacular view, but I got vertigo so bad I couldn't enjoy it.

Besides, this gives me an opportunity to talk to Paul and Deb about my intentions. Not that I need their permission, nor am I asking. Donna would kill me if I asked her Dad for permission to marry her, then tell CJ, who would have a bonfire and marshmallow roast with what was left of my body.

I get us drinks from one of the vendors and we sit down on a bench to wait. While I'm trying to think of a way to broach the subject, her mom suddenly speaks up.

"Donna seems very happy."

I don't know how mothers do that. Is it some kind of hormone during pregnancy that turns women into psychics?

"I'd like to make her even happier," I begin.

Paul looks across his wife at me. I look up from my shoes and meet his gaze.

"Sir, I want to marry your daughter."

"Somehow, I get the impression that you aren't asking for our blessing."

He doesn't sound upset, just curious.

"No, sir. Just advising you of my intentions."

I refuse to break eye contact. It's become a staring contest.

Deb makes a snorting noise. "If you two are done with the male posturing, I have some questions."

Donna may look like her Dad, but her personality is identical to her mother's.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Have you bought a ring?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Have you two discussed your future?"

I smile, remembering the conversation we had at Christmas time. "Yes, ma'am. We have discussed children, religion, careers, housing, whose family we're spending what holidays with and cremation versus traditional burial."

They both laugh.

"Seriously, I do want you both to understand something. My goal in life is to make Donna happy."

Those few words bring tears to her mother's eyes and she wraps me in a hug. "Despite the fact that you are not asking for our blessing, you have it," Deb whispers in my ear.

"Thank you," I whisper back.

***

The elevator ride up almost made Fred sick, so we didn't stay long. 

I quickly spot my parents sitting on a bench with Josh, talking. We're about twenty feet from them when my mother suddenly reaches over and hugs him.

This makes me incredibly nervous for some reason.

"Well, that was quick!" Dad comments when we get closer.

"Freddy almost got sick," I explain.

We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around the Mall, checking out memorials and sightseeing, before watching the sunset from the Tidal Basin.

Walking back towards the Willard, Josh suddenly asks if they want a tour of the White House.

"Josh?" I poke him in the arm. "Need I remind you of a certain Executive Order banning both of us from the office?"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Donna. He meant we weren't supposed to work."

I do not like the smirk on his face. It worries me almost as much as the hug my mother was giving him.

***

I have orders to bring Paul and Deb Moss to the White House at some point during the weekend. Orders that override my Presidentially mandated three-day weekend.

You've got it. Orders from Abigail Bartlet.

I think this has something to do with whatever happened between Donna and Mrs. Bartlet at her birthday party. All I know for sure is I got a phone call from the First Lady on Friday to "quietly bring her parents in."

I sign everyone in at the security desk and we head towards the Communications bullpen. Sam is in his office, pounding away on the President's Memorial Day speech for Monday at the Pentagon.

"Aren't you done, yet?"

"Jesus Christ, Josh!" He jumps about six inches. "Hi, Donna."

"You okay, Sam?" she asks.

"I need a new phrase for unyielding determination."

"Cut the damn paragraph!" Toby yells from next door.

"Steadfast resolve," I offer.

Sam ponders it for a second, nods and scribbles something on a note pad. He finally notices there are people with us and gives me a questioning look.

"I want you to meet Donna's parents, Paul and Deb, and her brother, Fred."

He comes out from behind his desk, offering his hand.

"Sam Seaborn, Deputy Communications Director."

Toby sticks his head out of his office when he hears the location of Sam's voice change.

Whatever Toby was going to lay into him about dies on his lips when he sees guests.

Donna does more introductions. Toby is as polite as Toby can be.

"Can I see you in your office for a minute?" he asks me after a couple of minutes of small talk.

"Sure. Donna?"

"We'll meet you there," she answers my unspoken question.

Toby looks over his shoulder as we walk away. "Cut the paragraph, Sam. Steadfast resolve isn't any better."

***

We finish up in Communications, then head through the Roosevelt Room, the Mural Room and a few other small meeting rooms. The Press Room is 95% empty on a Saturday night, but they're impressed nonetheless.

Toby's gone by the time we make it to the Operations bullpen, but Josh's desk light is on. I show them my desk area and then knock on Josh's doorframe.

He's making notes on a file.

"Just a second," he says.

Dad shakes his head, looking around the office. It's filled with crap Josh has collected over the years. Everything from an autographed Kennedy for President' poster to the Bartlet for America II' cast they cut off his leg a few weeks ago.

He makes a couple more notes before picking up his phone. "Does he have a minute, Charlie?"

"Okay, Thanks."

Josh gives me an apologetic smile. "I've got to walk this down to him."

My parents look a bit confused, but trail along behind us down the halls.

Blue jeans and his obnoxious t-shirt are not exactly proper attire for the Oval Office, but Josh knocks twice at the door before opening it and stepping in. I can hear Admiral Fitzwallace and Nancy McNally both make laughing comments about the shirt.

We're chitchatting with Charlie when the First Lady suddenly makes an appearance.

She introduces herself to my family, telling them it's very nice to meet them.

"I can't tell you how valuable Donna is to this administration. She has a refreshing, original viewpoint on many things and she's not afraid to express it. I honestly don't know what we'd do around here without her."

Wow.

When I glance towards the Oval Office, Josh is leaning against the door, smiling at me with a look of pride in his eyes.

"And what country are we invading today, Josh?" Abbey asks, noticing his presence.

"Canada is on the slate for today, I believe, ma'am."

"At least we'll get some good beer out of it," she laughs, turning to go. "Nice shirt, by the way."

***

The rest of the weekend is uneventful. 

We spend Sunday and Monday in the car touring surrounding area. If I never hear the words are we there yet' again, it might be too soon. It was the family vacation flashback from hell. Visions of me, Pat and Freddy in the station wagon on our way to visit Mount Rushmore kept dancing through my head.

Josh gets bored faster than any nine-year-old I ever met. There's about one way to relax him on a car trip if he's not driving. Since I was driving and my family was along, it wasn't like I could reach over and give him a hand job or anything.

Tuesday, Josh and I went back to work. Freddy's campus visit at Georgetown was that day, so the family was occupied. They had made plans to see the Smithsonian on Wednesday and do some other sightseeing on Thursday. Which was good, because I had to work in some dress shopping for the State Dinner.

Thursday night, we took them to dinner at The Palms. Fred told us all about how much he liked Georgetown. He was raving about this 5-year program the business school has that's a bachelors' degree in Business Administration and a masters' in Foreign Service. Josh was the only person that seemed at all interested, probably because he's the only one who understands what you do with that kind of an education. 

My parents just want him to finish college. Something Patricia and I both managed to not do.

Today is Friday. Tonight is the State Dinner and Josh has been acting bizarre all day. He shut himself in his office this morning, took Zoey Bartlet to lunch and has been in Leo's office all afternoon.

It's very weird. Something is definitely going on, I decide as I head to CJ's office to change for the Dinner.

***

Toby, Sam and I are down in the men's locker room, sans bathrobes, putting our monkey suits on. The President has decreed it a white tie event. We're cool with that, we look good in white ties and tails.

"What the matter with you?" Sam asks when I drop my cufflinks for the third time.

"I'm nervous," I admit.

"The State Dinner is making you nervous?" Toby scoffs, giving me a look.

I pull the small velvet box out of my jacket pocket and toss it to him.

"No. That is."

Toby opens the box to look at the ring I picked out.

Sam leans over to get a look. "Matt picked this out?"

"Actually, I did. He just confirmed it for me."

"He does have good taste." My best friend whistles softly and reaches out to touch it. 

Toby snaps the box shut before Sam can smudge it.

"I have heard things," Toby starts, handing me the box back.

"He's not gay," Sam pipes up. "And I'd just like to go on the record saying I wasn't pissed off at you because I thought you were. I was pissed because we've been friends for twenty years and I thought you didn't trust me enough to tell me."

Toby glares at him. "Sam?"

He turns from me to Toby. "What?"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

Sam decides to help put my cufflinks on instead, because I've now dropped them for the fifth time.

"I have occasionally overheard snippets of Donna talking to CJ. Donna's car died two months ago and instead of getting a different one, she rides to work with you or, oddly, she drives your new car and you walk. I am neither blind nor stupid. Neither are you and Donna. Congratulations."

Toby finishes his speech, hooks his tie on, turns on his heel and heads upstairs.

"Do you know what you're going to say to her?" Sam asks.

I nod, slinging my tie around my neck.

"Zoey is sending her to meet me in the Rose Garden at 9 o'clock. Even if I turn into a bumbling idiot, she can always say I proposed there."

"The Rose Garden? Who the hell are you and what have you done with my completely non-romantic friend?"

I shake my head and laugh at him as we leave the locker room.

***

CJ and I are in her office trying to get my hair to stay up when Josh knocks on the door.  
  
"Help." I can hear him pleading through the door.

We look at each other and grin. "The Tony Bennett look," we chorus, opening the door for him.

Josh's jaw drops when he sees me.

I found this full length, ivory dress at a consignment shop. It's low cut, sleeveless and has a built in Wonderbra.

God bless the Wonderbra people. Can we get them a government subsidy in the next budget?

Josh and I get a few looks when we enter the East Room together. DC is still buzzing about the Newsweek article. Most people probably think I'm here in my normal capacity as Josh's assistant.

In a minor breach of protocol, Josh and I end up at the same table as the President, First Lady, Chancellor Erik Mueller and his wife, Danielle. Chancellor Mueller speaks excellent English, but his wife of three years speaks little. She's Polish and speaks flawless German, but has been struggling to learn English.

I took German for six years in school. Ten years later, I can order a beer and ask where the bathroom is. Josh, on the other hand, turns out to be fairly fluent in Polish. The two of them are having a lively conversation in Mrs. Mueller's native language, although I think I'm hearing some Yiddish in there, too. 

"I didn't realize Mr. Lyman spoke Polish," the Chancellor remarks.

"Yeah, but look at them. They're probably plotting the overthrow of NATO," President Bartlet quips.

"No, sir. We're debating the likelihood of the Mets making the Series this year."

Josh is discussing baseball with the German chancellor's wife in Polish. This day just got even weirder. 

Abbey picks that moment to say she needs to visit the ladies' room. Mrs. Mueller and I agree to go with her.

"Even here they go in packs." Chancellor Mueller comments as we walk away.

***

Once the three of them are gone, I look at the President, silently asking his permission to go.

"Let me see it first," he says, holding his hand out.  


I hand him the ring box, hoping nobody else notices.

"Nervous?" Erik asks me, looking at the ring.

"Terrified," I admit.

"Good luck, son." Bartlet tells me, giving me the ring back and shaking my hand.

As I head for the exit, I catch Sam's eye. He smiles and gives me a thumbs up.

***

Zoey's waiting outside the ladies' room when we exit.

"Josh went out to the Rose Garden. He wanted to get some air before the dancing starts," she says. "He asked me to ask you to meet him out there."

That's weird. Despite his claims to the contrary, Josh is not an outdoorsman. Fresh air causes him to break out in a rash.

I'm surprised at how beautiful the garden is at night. It's softly illuminated by the lights from the House. Josh is leaning against a column, looking up at the sky, muttering to himself.

***

I'm leaning against this column, praying for God to give me the strength to do this. Does that tell you what this means to me? The fact I'm praying? 

When I hear the click of her heels on the pavement, I say one last prayer.

***

He gives me the dimples when he looks at me.

"What's up?" I ask. This is the culmination of today's weirdness, I can feel it.

"Donna, I want to ask you something." Josh begins, hesitantly. 

He leads me over to one of the stone benches and we sit, facing each other.

"You know I love you very much. More than life. I would do anything you asked me to do."

"Josh" I start.

He touches a finger to my lips to silence me.

"But I have one thing to ask you."

Oh my God.

Joshua gets down on one knee in front of me and holds up a small, black box. 

I can't believe this is happening.

"Donnatella, will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

I can't speak. Josh has asked me to marry him and I am speechless.

He's looking at me expectantly.

I finally find my voice. "Oh, Joshua. Yes."

***

I slip the ring on her finger, stand and pull her to me so I can kiss her.

"I love you so much," I tell her when we break the kiss. 

She nestles her head on my shoulder and clings to me tightly.

I don't want this moment to ever end.

I can feel her start to giggle at something against my shoulder. Turning to look, I see the President and First Lady have gathered with the senior staff at a window to watch.

"You realize you've outed yourself as a romantic," she whispers to me as we slowly head inside, arm in arm.

"I'm pretty much screwed there aren't I?" I ask her with a grin.

"Yeah, but I'll marry you anyway," she decides as we walk into the congratulations of our friends and co-workers.

Sometimes, the best laid plans go off without a hitch.


	9. The Art of Air Conditioning

"By weather I mean the interaction of natural forces; the effects of winter's cold and summer's heat"

The Art of War — Sun Tzu

"The Art of War" is one of Bruno's favorite books. It shouldn't surprise me. What does surprise me is that about the fifth time he made me read it on this road trip, it finally made sense as to why. The whole exercise reminded me of being forced to read Karl Von Clausewitz's "On War" in a foreign policy class I took at Harvard. I have long applied many of Clausewitz's military observations to political strategy.

Clausewitz maintains that the use of military force is simply the extension of a nation's foreign policy, the desire of a State to force another State to do its bidding. Foreign policy in the United States of America is influenced by political pressures here at home. Thus, one can postulate that politics is war.

If you put the two of them together, you get a hell of a guide to military (or political) strategy.

A key element to waging war, according to Sun Tzu, is weather. It is my personal opinion that the Republicans have infiltrated the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA, the fine folks behind the National Weather Service). Once in control there, they fiddled with the nation's thermostat in an attempt to use heat stroke to kill Bruno and I. Thereby depriving President Bartlet of two generals in his reelection bid.

Everywhere Bruno and I have been in the past two weeks has been in the middle of a never-ending heat wave that is, inexplicably, leaving a plethora of non-functioning air conditioners strewn in its wake. We rented a car in Washington and have been driving around the Southeastern United States whipping campaign offices into fighting shape. It was 92 in Virginia, 102 in South Carolina, 95 in Florida, 100 in Georgia and it is 101 degrees with 100 percent humidity as we pull into Biloxi, Mississippi to hook up with the President at a day-long meet and greet for the fourteen registered Democrats on the Gulf Coast.

It is quite possible the heat, lack of sleep and the complete lack of sex have combined to actually fry my few remaining brain cells.

***

As this administration's Press Secretary, I must admit to not being an original backer of Josh Lyman's let them think I'm gay' approach to his personal life.

It has worked better than I could have ever anticipated.

Donna quietly wears her engagement ring. Anyone who asks about it is told the truth. She doesn't name names unless someone specifically inquires, but she answers honestly.

Josh goes about the business of being Josh. He just seems to be wound a lot less tight these days.

I attribute that to the sex.

The two of them are the epitome of professionalism at work.

Okay, let me rephrase that.

If I were not privy to the change in their personal lives, I wouldn't suspect anything from their behavior in the office. In other words, they are the same Josh and Donna they have always been.

Josh and Bruno have been blanketing the Southeast for the past two weeks, coordinating campaign offices and working with local media.

Speaking of travelling, we are in Biloxi, Mississippi this morning for some sort of crawfish cook-off thing.

The plan is for our two wandering missionaries of reelection to meet up with us here and then we'll all head back to DC tonight.

Except that Leo and the President have arranged a little surprise for Josh, who has been busting his ass helping Bruno and doing his real job from the road.

We're sprawled out in the workspace we've commandeered when the two of them arrive.

My first thought is that they look exhausted.

Bruno says nothing, just glares at all of us until Toby hands him his room key. He leaves without speaking.

Josh collapses in a chair.

"You look like shit."

Sam, the master of understatement.

"Did you all know the average July temperature in Birmingham, Alabama is 80 degrees?" Josh asks the room at large.

When none of us respond, he continues.

"Was anyone aware of the fact that Birmingham, Alabama is presently in the midst of the worst heat wave on record? That this year, the average daytime temperature in July is 97 degrees?"

I take a closer look at him; finally noticing that he's wearing a tank top and basketball shorts. His hair is dripping wet.

"This abysmal heat wave managed to blow out the air conditioning in both the campaign office and the hotel, two days before Bruno and I even got to Birmingham."

"What is that smell?" Leo asks, entering the room.

"To top it all off, the air conditioning in the rent-a-wreck died an hour after we picked it up," Josh finishes.

Toby doesn't even look up from his paper. 

"That smell, Leo, is your deputy."

"Can I have my room key, please? Who has the stuff Donna was supposed to send me?"

"CJ's going to take you to your room, because by looking at you, I doubt you can walk that far on your own."

President Bartlet makes his appearance.

"Take the rest of the day off, Josh. We've got this covered," Leo tells him as I lead him out of the suite.

"You look glum, mi amour."

"I'm tired, I smell, and I miss Donna," he states simply and without hesitation.

***

CJ grins at me when we reach the door to what I presume is my room.

"We're up 10 points in Florida since you two went down there," she says, shoving me through the door.

10 points? Damn, that puts the state in play.

"The President thinks you deserve a reward."

"What?"

"Joshua, Leo has given you the day off. My orders are to make sure that you shower and get on the airplane."

"Huh?"

I'm looking around what is obviously CJ's room. She has her hand between my shoulders, pushing me into the bathroom.

"Shower. Quickly. Your flight leaves in 90 minutes."

I don't argue, but once I'm under the freezing water I start to piece the conversation together.

"What flight?" I holler.

"Your flight to DC."

I hear the door open and CJ walk in.

"I'm going to DC?"

"You're taking the day off and the President is sending you home early. Last night, the Senate Majority Leader scheduled a roll call vote on the education bill for a week from Thursday. There are some wavering senators on both sides of the aisle that need to be reminded of who is really going to win in November. Donna has your schedule packed for the next 10 days."

Ooh, beating up on misbehaving senators. My favorite sport.

"How many stops?"

"It's a surprise."

"Will the air conditioning work?" I ask.

***

The air conditioning on the charter flight only works intermittently. 

However, when I step out of the plane, I discover the heat wave followed me. It's a hundred degrees and a hundred percent humidity in Washington.

I spot the Audi outside the private terminal and head towards it.

Donna greets me with a sensuous kiss when I collapse into the passenger seat.

"Mmm. I missed you." I tell her.

"I missed you too."

"Why is the top down?" I just realized that the sun is baking my head.

"The air conditioner died yesterday, the dealership can't get it in until tomorrow. We can drop it off after 6 a.m. and they'll give us a loaner."

"It's a Republican plot against me," I groan. "Every where I go, the air conditioning dies."

"We'll go home and I'll show you how much I missed you. That will take your mind off it."

I think she's leering at me.

"Are you propositioning me, Donnatella Moss?"

"Damn right I am."

With that, she shoves the car into gear and pulls into traffic.

***

On the drive home, I decide there was no point in showering this morning, because I smell once again. Donna couldn't keep her hand (just one, she was driving with the other) off of Spongebob, so I'm also horny as hell. Reaching my apartment I finally drop my bags and grab Donna, pushing her up against the door, kissing her deeply.

"Inside. Now." She demands. Yeah, sex in the hallway would be bad. The neighbors talk too much as it is.

Two weeks has been a long time for both of us and phone sex just isn't an acceptable alternative. Not that I had time to have phone sex, because I was working 20 hours a day. Fumbling with the key, I finally get the door unlocked.

We're met by a blast of hot air.

"Donna, why is it hotter in the apartment than it is outside?"

She head over to the window air conditioner, looks at it, listens to it and then starts to smack the side of it.

I wince. "Is it dead?"

"As a doornail."

I sigh, grabbing my stuff from the hallway. "Let's get it out of the window, then."

This building is some kind of historical site, which means the landlord can charge exorbitant rent and can not install central air. I've had this mammoth window unit since I moved in here about ten years ago. It took me and four other guys an entire day to install it.

I, unfortunately, fail to remember that fact until Donna heaves the window open far enough for me to pull the thing out.

"You got it?" she asks.

"I think so," I grunt. One good pull should do it.

Well, it would have done it if my hands weren't covered in sweat. I pull, my hands slip and the air conditioner teeters on the window frame for just a second.

Donna jumps at the sound of it crashing to the sidewalk, two stories below.

"Whoops."

We look at each other before poking our heads out the window. The beast is lying on the ground in about fifteen pieces.

"Thank God it didn't hit anybody," Donna quips.

"I can just hear CJ spinning it now," I laugh. If I don't laugh, I'll cry. This day is just a total loss.

She and I troop downstairs and retrieve the pieces, tossing them into the building's dumpster.

"We better go buy another one," I collapse on the stoop.

Donna sits down next to me. "We could just go back upstairs and I could go back to proving to you how much I missed you."

"No air conditioning, no practice," I'm emphatic on this.

"You're withholding sex for shopping?" She's incredulous.

"I'm not as young as I used to be. If I try to have sex in this heat, I'll have a heart attack and die." Standing up, I offer her my hand, "Let's go buy an air conditioner."

***

We end up with a baby one for the master bedroom and a huge one to replace the recently deceased and obliterated old one. The big one gets delivered tomorrow at noon. For $50, they'll install it, too. Donna says she'll take a long lunch and supervise.

I get the bedroom unit assembled and installed with little difficulty.

***

Josh has been sitting in the bedroom trying to put the drain nozzle in for almost twenty minutes. In deference to the temperature in the bedroom, he's wearing boxers and nothing else. When I last checked in on him, he was dripping with sweat.

I know things aren't going well because he's swearing at it in Polish.

"Got it!" I hear him yell, finally.

While he's been fussing with that, I've been pouring over the President's projected schedule for next year, trying to pin down a wedding date. Yes, I'm going with the optimistic, we're going to win' approach. That leaves me with one realistic weekend before next summer: March 1st. March in Wisconsin, could be good weather, but probably not.

Josh interrupts my planning. "Donna! Come here, this is the part where I need help."

I'm thinking he probably needed help before we ever got the thing home. Entering the bedroom, I am fairly impressed. The window is open, Josh has it braced and in place.

He's grinning at me. "Just shut the window."

When I do, he lets go of it and we both take a step back. I fully expect it to plummet two stories to the ground. Josh stands there looking disgustingly pleased with himself.

"I am a man," he announces.

"Um, babe? Where did you plan to plug it in?" I can't see an outlet within reach of the unit's short cord.

With a smirk I just want to kiss off his face, Josh pulls an extension cord out of the box.

"Over there," he points to an outlet about six feet away.

"I am in awe of the power of your planning," I mock, observing the way his muscles ripple as he plugs the cord in and turns the air conditioner on.

"Careful, or I'll continue to refuse to practice with you," he threatens, swaggering up to me.

I wrap my arms around Josh's waist and pull his hips to mine, leaning in to lick the sweat from his bare chest.

He snakes his hands up my tank top, reaching for my bra snap. Together we stumble towards the bed, Josh kissing my neck and me still licking the sweat from his chest.

"You're wearing too many clothes," I tell him, straddling his bare chest after we land.

"Me?" Josh raises an eyebrow, which I promptly kiss.

"Oh, wait. That was supposed to be your cliché wasn't it?"

I relish the feel of him laughing under me. Josh hasn't laughed much in the past month or so. He hasn't done much but work since the first part of June.

Every time I tried his cellphone on this road trip, he was at some campaign office, working polls, coordinating volunteers, explaining strategy or doing his actual job.

"So, Donna?"

"Yes?" I wiggle my hips into his chest.

"How much did you miss me?"

"Let me think here. I've been driving your fabulous convertible around town, getting off work at a reasonable hour, taking an actual lunch, not apologizing to anyone," I rattle off.

Josh growls at me and sits up, dumping me backward into his lap and tickling me. I lean back up against his knees, trying to escape his skillful fingers. When I'm out of breath, he leans forward to kiss the base of my throat. He continues with that for a few moments and the stops long enough to pull my tank off.

***

We lay quietly, touching each other languidly. 

"Did you find a weekend?" Josh asks, tracing a figure eight around the Wonder Twins. 

"It's either March 1st or next summer."

I can feel him contemplating a March wedding; he's rocking his head back and forth, debating the idea. "Okay," he finally says.

That decided, we resume our silence, simply relaxing and enjoying the slowing cooling air. We both know these moments will be very rare between now and November.


	10. Fargo SUX The Butter Cow

I love the campaign trail. Especially when we hit three or four places in one day. It is exhausting, but it's fun, in an odd sort of way.

Donna claims it's a manifestation of my ego's need for public adulation.

Anyway, today is a three-stop day. Starting in the happening town of Sioux City, Iowa moving north to Fargo, North Dakota and finishing the day back in Iowa at the Iowa State Fair in Des Moines. 

CJ is far too excited about the last stop. Something about a butter statue. Honestly? I didn't care enough to listen; I just got her wound up about it and left her with Sam.

I'm going over polling numbers for the places we're stopping when Donna plops herself into the seat next to me.

"Here."

She takes the printouts from my hands and replaces them with a cream cheese muffin and a bottle of chocolate milk. She wants something. The only time she brings me food on Air Force One is when she wants something from me.

"Now, explain this thing to me again."

See? I swallow a mouthful of muffin. "Which thing?"

"The first thing."

"We're stopping in Sioux City to announce the FAA is changing the city's airport code."

"But why do we have to do this?"

Donna is very whiny, and slightly snarky, this morning. It's a combination of exhaustion, this is the ninth one-day campaign trip in the past 15 days, and PMS. What? I sleep with her; I know when it's that time of the month. I am the chocolate fudge brownie ice cream king. 

"The city has been petitioning for this change for almost twenty years. We're making the announcement to show their concerns matter to us."

"This was your last cheese day assignment, wasn't it?" she accuses.

"Actually, it was mine," Sam admits, landing in the seat across from Donna, having finally escaped from CJ and her tales of butter sculptures. "I left her with Toby and Ginger," he says, answering my look.

"It's an airport code, Sam," Donna whines.

I answer for him. "Yes, Donna. It's an airport code. It's also a big deal to the people of the mighty metropolis of Sioux City, Iowa."

She smacks me on the shoulder. "Stop mocking me, Joshua."

"If the airport code for your city was sucks, it'd be a big deal to you, too," I reply. 

She looks at me in confusion. "Sucks?"

Sam sits there smirking. He told me about this over drinks a couple of weeks ago; bourbon actually came out of my nose.

"S-U-X."

"It is not." Donna looks at Sam for confirmation. He nods his head and she busts out laughing. "Wasn't there a huge plane crash here a few years ago?"

"Sucks to land in Sioux City?" I quip.

Toby groans, taking the seat next to Sam. "United Flight 232 crash-landed at Sioux City Gateway Airport in July of 1989, killing 111 of 296 on board. The official cause was catastrophic engine failure. The pilot was hailed as a hero for managing to crash it without killing everyone."

Even Donna, queen of the inane factoids, turns to gape at him.

"Why do you know that?" Sam asks.

"It's in the press packet we're releasing. Since someone, who shall remain nameless, left me with CJ, it was either read that or pay attention to a recitation of the merits of Duffy Lyons, Butter Cow Lady."

***

The change in the airport code goes over better than anyone could have hoped for. A large woman, wearing a floral print shirt, actually kissed Sam when the President said the new code would be S-X-Y. Hell of an improvement, isn't it? From sucks to sexy? 

Yeah. 

I'm going to remember two things about Sioux City. The woman in the floral print shirt and the stench. Sioux City smells like the Hudson River in July. One of the airport people tried to explain it, but all I understood was something about the humidity, a livestock market and a slaughterhouse.

An hour after we land, we're airborne again. This time we're heading for Hector International Airport in Fargo, North Dakota. If, by chance you care, its airport code is FAR. 

We did some shuffling of the National Parks funding, taking about $12 million dollars from Mount Rushmore's operating budget and establishing a sort of mini-National Park around the geographical center of North America. Normally, we would do something like this in the state capital, which is Bismarck, or at the new park, which is literally in the middle of nowhere. 

Leo picked Fargo because, and I'm quoting here, "the President really liked the movie." Me? I tried to watch it three times, fell asleep every time.

The park goes over better than the S-U-X change. I was evidently in a coma when the blood feud between North and South Dakota was declared. There's cheering, sign-waving, even a wood chipper. I'm hoping whatever it's for happens _after_ we get back on the airplane.

Sam got kissed again by yet another large woman in a floral shirt. He still looks slightly green. Settling into our seats for the brief flight to Des Moines, he glares at me. 

"I am so going to get you for that."

I feign innocence. It doesn't work because Sam continues to stare at me. 

"What?"

"You paid that woman $20 to kiss me in front of that photographer," he accuses.

"I paid that woman $100 to kiss you in front to that photographer," I correct.

"I'm getting you for that."

He stalks away after take-off and I don't see him again until after we land. Des Moines is actually our main stop today. We've got lunch at some local diner, a campaign rally in downtown and then a meet and greet thing at the State Fair, that part is freaking out the Secret Service.

The local diner, decorated with a corny 50s atmosphere, is this place that's evidently renowned for the pouring of milkshakes into glasses that are perched on top of one's head and for its hamburgers. This is one of those things we do for the local media, they get to send in a pool still photographer, TV photographer, a print reporter and a TV reporter; we get lunch.

Donna, Ginger, Sam and I grab a table, waiting for CJ to finish her little pep talk to the press pool and join us. She and the waitress show up together. Sam, after discussing the milkshake pouring tradition with the waitress, orders a caramel chocolate fudge one with his burger; I'm trying to figure out what the hell Maytag blue cheese is and if I want to eat it.

The food is good; whatever the cheese is, it is edible and the meat wasn't mooing. We're almost done when our waitress comes back with Sam's milkshake and an expectant look on her face. Sam nods in my direction and I'm handed the glass.

"Just hold it over your head, honey," she tells me, getting up on a chair.

I am a dead man, but I'm also the center of attention. "I have to know two things before you do this," I look up at her.

"Sure thing."

"Have you ever missed?"

"No, but there's a first time for everything."

Sam is smirking at me, the bastard.

"Tell me this cost him more than $100."

"I never kiss and tell," she informs me before proceeding to dump the entire shake on my head.

The diner erupts in laughter. All I can really do is sit there, caramel chocolate fudge ice cream dripping off my nose. Donna leans over and scoops a finger-full off my neck, tasting it. 

"Not bad," she giggles.

When the ruckus subsides, the waitress is kind enough to bring me a towel.

"You owe me for the dry cleaning, asshole." I inform Sam, who probably peed his pants; he's been laughing so hard.

Bartlet and Leo pick that moment to wander over and survey the scene. Shaking his head at me, the President starts to laugh.

"Did you bring an overnight bag?" Leo asks.

"No, I didn't anticipate wearing a milkshake."

"We've got a suite at the hotel across the street. Go shower. Donna, I think there's a department store down here somewhere. Find him some clothes. It can be casual, we're going to the Fair next anyway."

"What about the rally?"

"I think we can cover it without you," Bartlet states, finally catching his breath.

The diner manager decides he needs to apologize as we head out the door. 

"Don't worry about it," I tell the guy, pointing at Sam. "His wallet is considerable lighter for it, I'm sure."

Walking out the door, I realize I'm going to need new everything: pants, boxers, shoes. Donna looks me up and down before heading to the store. I fear what I'll be wearing for the rest of the day.

Donna isn't back when I get out of the shower, so I sprawl out on the bed naked and flip the TV on. It's only been twenty minutes since I had a milkshake dumped on my head and the video is already on CNN. Along with a comment from the Ritchie campaign about the "sophomoric, frat boy practical jokes" being displayed by the Bartlet staffers.

I quickly dig my cellphone out of my ruined pants to let CJ know, so we don't get blindsided by some overeager local reporter.

I'm hanging up with Leo, who told me he had it covered, as Donna walks in carrying two bags.

"What did you get me?" I flop back onto the bed.

She tosses me one bag, then heads into the bathroom with the other. I dig through it: khaki cargo shorts, a white, short-sleeved polo shirt, a new pair of Birkenstocks and

"DONNA!"

It's a couple of moments before she comes out of the bathroom wearing a pair of those just-above-the-ankle pants and a light blue halter-top.

"What?"

I raise an eyebrow at her. "Not that I don't appreciate that outfit, but"

"Josh!" She interrupts me by holding up a short-sleeved, white, cotton blouse. I should have known she'd have gotten something to put over that rather revealing halter-top.

"Okay. So why are there little pink pigs all over these boxers?"

Donna's digging through a closet, looking for an iron. "Because I thought they were cute," she slams the ironing board down. "Obviously, I was wrong."

Oh shit. I slip the boxers on, tags and all, before crossing the room to her. There's a little vanity outside the bathroom, with a mirror and an outlet where she is trying to plug the iron in. Her back is to me, her posture radiating tension and the mirror shows me how near tears she is. I wrap my arms around her waist and hug her close, trying to ease some of her anxiety away.

"What's the matter?" I whisper in her ear.

She drops the iron, turning around in my arms. "I'm tired, Josh. I've got cramps and I'm bloating," Donna sobs, resting her head on my chest and suddenly bursting into tears. It's PMS mood-swing day to go with the cramps. The cramps I have a surefire cure for. Granted, I'm kind of promised Leo that Donna and I wouldn't fool around on the campaign trail, but this is a medical emergency. 

Right?

Raising her chin, I give her a deep kiss. "The speech Sam wrote is like an hour long."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Is anyone coming back to the room?" She leans around me to look at the bed.

"Wanna do it against the wall, just in case?" I raise my eyebrows at her, causing her laugh.

She runs her hands over my bare chest. "You are absolutely incorrigible."

"I thought I was insatiable."

After breaking our kiss to take her pants off, Donna hops up on the ledge. We've become accomplished in the art of the mutually satisfying quickie and taking it where we can get it. 

I'm taking it where I can get it.

*** 

"Damn it!" Donna catches a glimpse of the clock over my shoulder. "We've got to get dressed."

She irons her shirt quickly and gets dressed again. It takes me two minutes to get dressed and shove my suit into one of the bags. To keep out of her way, I sit back down on the bed and watch the rest of Bartlet's speech. He's getting a great reception. Finishing up, he mentions how much fun the staff is having in Des Moines and he hopes they'll understand if even politicians occasionally stoop to sophomoric, frat boy practical jokes for a laugh every now and then.

"Ready?" Donna asks. I stand up and we head downstairs to meet everyone else in the lobby.

***

"Wow."

"Josh!" Donna's exasperated with me already. We've only been here ten minutes.

Leo told us on the ride over that we had to tour the hog barn with the President, but then he was cutting us all loose for the rest of the day. We have six hours free, once we're done here. In the hog barn. Where Toby and I are staring, open-mouthed, at the largest set of potential Rocky Mountain Oysters we have ever seen.

They are attached to the winner of the "Biggest Boar" competition. The thing is huge.

Donna finally pries us away from the boar and we head out into the sweltering heat and humidity. She and I are the only ones who are remotely comfortable. Looking at Sam, who's wearing a blue, sweat-soaked, dress shirt, I drape my arm around Donna's shoulders. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for the milkshake earlier."

Toby stops our banter before it can start. "Can we get away from the stench, please?"

Wandering the Fairgrounds, we encounter a wide variety of human beings, a wider variety of entertainment and an absolutely astounding array of food. Most of which seems to be on a stick. There are corn dogs, cotton candy, bratwursts, ice cream, chocolate dipped bananas and, my personal favorite, deep-fried cheese. Donna had to have one of those.

Never mind, we just found pork chops on sticks. That takes the cake.

Two hours of walking around, sucking down $4 lemonades to ward off dehydration and we still haven't found CJ's butter cow. We've been recruited by the Iowa National Guard, the Iowa State Patrol, the FBI, INS and DEA, but no butter cow. I finally grab one of the state troopers patrolling the Fair and ask for directions.

***

"It's a cow," Toby continues to insist. We're currently standing in front of a glass display case, looking at a life-sized cow made from chicken wire and, well, butter.

"It's a Guernsey," Donna chimes in. At my disbelieving look, she points at a sign that explains what type of cow it is.

"Toby, it's hand-sculpted out of butter," CJ gushes.

Sam wandered off a few minutes ago, looking bored. He comes back looking excited. "There's something called a Bud Tent' on this map I got."

He and I look at each other. "One would assume they serve Bud there," he continues.

I've got a huge grin on my face. "Let's get drunk and tour the midway."

CJ moans at the thought. "Oh my God."

Beer at the Bud Tent is $5 for one of those 16 ounce plastic cups. $40 later, Donna and I are hell bent to tour the midway. Sam, CJ and Toby seem content to stay where they're at.

I'm half-wasted and not thinking clearly when I agree to go on the double Ferris Wheel. I hate Ferris wheels. It's that whole vertigo/heights thing. Donna has to pry my hands off the bar by making out with me at the top. I then proceed to blow twenty bucks at one of those stupid carney games winning a giant, stuffed pig for my fiancée. 

We haven't been too careful about public displays of affection this afternoon, but Leo specifically told us we were off the clock. Which is the only reason why we have our arms around each other's waists, her head resting on my shoulder, when we approach the President's group at 8 o'clock. He seems like he's in a good mood, so neither of us lets go.

"Ah, Josh and Donna!" Bartlet greets us. "Have a good time?"

"Yes, sir," we answer together.

"That's a very nice pig, Donna. How long did it take him to win that?" The grin on his face can't get any wider. When I blush, he inexplicably lets it go. Thank God, because Toby, Sam and CJ reappear, looking the worse for wear.

Toby speaks up, glaring at Sam, before anyone can ask a question. "Never, ever do the bungee swing with a man who's been drinking."

***

__

Sadly, Stella's Blue Sky Diner has poured its last malt. The restaurant went out of business shortly after this story was written. The owner is looking for a buyer. Stella's Blue Sky Diner poured milkshakes & malts onto to the heads of all kinds of people (they hardly ever miss) including former President Bill Clinton during the 1996 Iowa Caucuses.


	11. A Cheeseburger In Paradise

"I swear to God, if I have to eat one more slab of baked, broiled or grilled chicken this weekend"

Charlie and I are wandering the bowels of the Staples Center drinking Coronas I liberated from the media's booze supply. We're hiding, well not so much hiding as we are plotting a way to kidnap our girlfriends and find some red meat.

It's a quest.

Charlie takes a drink and then points his bottle in my direction. "I hear you. Since when is potato salad green?"

I shrug. Charlie, at least, has been out and about. The President had a thing at a local Baptist church. Charlie got to go, so did Sam, Toby, CJ, Carol, Donna and Bruno's staff. Me? I was stuck in the hotel trying to placate pissed off donors, half of whom were hitting on me, by ironing out the final details for a huge post-nomination blow-out in Hollywood. They did not teach party planning at Harvard or Yale. Then there's my luck with planning. Yeah, this should about be a disaster. 

Although if Matt Skinner ever needs a date, I have phone numbers for him.

"So, can you swing us a car?" I ask.

"Gina says she has to come with us, but we can have a Suburban."

"I want a convertible, Charlie. I want to drive halfway to San Francisco with the wind in our hair."

We're looking for the Lakers' locker room but he stops checking doors and stares at me in disbelief. "Josh, do you even want Zoey and I on this outing? Or do you just want to get laid? Josh and Donna's Excellent Adventure?"

"Bingo!" I call, hitting pay dirt when I open an unmarked door. "I can't get laid. I'm not allowed to be alone with Donna on the campaign trail."

"Wow. This place is huge!" Charlie's laughing at me and turning a circle in the middle of the room. "You need Zoey and I to chaperone?"

"God, this is humiliating." I'm forty years old and I have to be chaperoned by the President's twenty-one year-old daughter and her boyfriend.

***

It takes me less than an hour to arrange for a '65 Mustang convertible from a local Democratic bigwig. I have to invoke God, the President and the IRS, but I swing it. Gina agrees on the condition that she gets to bring a trail car.

Now it's just convincing Leo to let us have the rest of the day off.

"You want to do what?" Leo looks up from the latest polling data on California. I saw it earlier. We're so far ahead and if we don't spend another dollar here we'll still win by fifteen points.

"I want to take Donna up the coast to watch the sunset," I repeat.

"Alone?"

"No. Charlie and Zoey are coming with us."

"Does the President know about it?" When I don't meet his gaze, Leo glares at me. "Josh, what kind of hare-brained scheme is this?"

"One to get actual food for dinner," I admit, still staring at my shoes.

"So the White House Deputy Chief of Staff and the Personal Aide to the President have a plan to slip away with their girlfriends, during the Democratic National Convention, to eat red meat for a meal?"

I'm not sure if he's amused or pissed.

"Come on, Leo. We haven't eaten anything but chicken and the odd piece of patty-shaped vegetarian tofu crap since that day in Iowa almost three weeks ago. Nobody is going to miss us tonight. Tonight is about Hoynes' speech. The media types are looking for his staffers." I'm whining, I'll freely tell you that. I want a cheeseburger. At this point, I will kill for a cheeseburger. Hell, I'll give up sex for a month for a cheeseburger.

Oh wait, I haven't had sex in almost a month, anyway.

"Do the women know about this plan?"

"Gina's in on it."

"You're kidnapping your girlfriends to go on a quest for beef?"

Inspiration strikes. "I'll bring you one back."

"No lettuce, no tomatoes, no ketchup," he orders. "Get out of here."

"Thanks, Leo!"

I take off running down the hall, like a ten-year-old, to the suite I'm sharing with Sam. I've got fifteen minutes to change and meet the guy with the car downstairs. Charlie is corralling the women at the Staples Center; Gina is raiding their rooms for more comfortable clothing. We're rendezvousing at the corner of Figueroa and 12th in twenty minutes. I'm not sure where we are going after that, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. Charlie has a map.

The car is perfect: A 1965 Ford Mustang convertible, black with white leather interior. The guy's got the top down for me already. After convincing him that I am capable of driving a stick, I give him a hundred bucks and tell him he can pick up tomorrow morning.

***

Charlie is up to something. Five minutes ago, he pulled us out of the media suite where Zoey was finishing up an interview with MTV. He handed us a bag with instructions to change clothes and meet him back there as fast as we can.

"What do you think is going on?" Zoey asks, emerging from a stall wearing shorts, sandals and a cute halter-top. 

I'm in the process of putting my hair up. "I have no idea, but I'm sure this somehow involves my idiot fiancé." I'm not sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.

The First Daughter touches up her lipstick. "We're wearing decent clothes, so I'm sure Gina was involved," she comments. "It can't be that bad. Come on, Donna, lighten up!"

Zoey is right, I'm just going to go with the flow here. "I don't care what it is, if it means I don't have to eat chicken for dinner tonight."

One last look in the mirror and we head out the door. Charlie leads us outside to a corner near the Staples Center. We're only there for a moment before a shiny, black convertible pulls to a stop next to us.

"Your chariot awaits, ladies," Josh calls.

Charlie shakes his head, "In other words, hurry up before the light changes."

We pile in like a pack of teenagers going cruising on a Friday night.

"So, Brother Joshua," Zoey asks. "Where are we going?"

Josh flashes me a dimpled grin before answering her. "On a quest for the perfect cheeseburger."

"Please tell me you have a map?" I question. Josh's plans tend to be not well thought out.

"Charles, my friend? Prove to the lovely Donnatella that we are not completely inept."

The young man leans forward and hands me a map with the route highlighted in green. "Rumor has it there are places along this highway that have no names, just excellent red meat."

"No chicken?" Zoey and I both ask in unison.

"No chicken, tonight, ladies," Josh announces, pulling onto the freeway. "Tonight is for beef and beer."

***

In a minor miracle, I manage to find the Pacific Coast Highway without getting lost and without losing our trail car. Charlie and Zoey are snuggled into the backseat, oblivious to everything but each other. I've got one arm around Donna, the other on the steering wheel; her head resting on my shoulder.

"You're good," she tells me as we cruise through Santa Monica and Malibu, gawking at the beachside homes to the left and the ones clinging to the cliffs on our right. "If it were dark, I'd prove how good."

Did she just offer what I think she offered?

Three hours of driving lands us in the tiny, seaside town of Gaviota at about 5:30. A little investigation takes us to a hole-in-the-wall local bar. The guy at the gas station said it has the best, greasiest burgers in town. He looked like an expert. Clint and Gina say they'll run through the Wendy's and then wait outside for us.

Evidently, they never get tourists. Everybody stops and stares until the bartender tells us a grab an open table, Georgia will be right there.

Georgia is your stereotypical, small-town waitress. Middle-aged, a little overweight, a little gray, a lot of attitude and that piece of gum. She reminds me of what the hell was that character's name on Alice? No, not Alice, the tall one with the gum and the kiss my grits' line. Her.

Anyway, Georgia is chewing her gum and looking at me. "A pitcher of Bud, one of Bud Light and four glasses," I start.

"I need to see some IDs," she interrupts, looking at everyone but me.

Zoey, Donna and Charlie hand over their potpourri of identification. Satisfied, she turns her attention back to me. "Okay, a pitcher of Bud, a pitcher of Bud Light. You want onion rings or something?"

"Onion rings would be good," we all nod in agreement.

Over beer, onion rings and grease burgers, the four of us discuss everything but the campaign. Donna has already asked Zoey to be a bridesmaid, so they're discussing dresses.

***

We start talking wedding and the boys' eyes glaze over before they wander off. I'm trying to decide what colors to go with for a March ceremony. I think I can get away with something darker because of the season, but I'm not sure. Zoey keeps suggesting silver and hunter green.

Hunter green for the dresses would be okay; it wouldn't clash with anyone's hair or skin tone. I picked out a style for them already at a bridal shop in D.C., where I found the perfect dress.

"You know, four years ago, I never would have pictured Josh this mellow." Zoey's reached the stage of drunk where she becomes deeply profound. "I mean, Mandy drove him insane. She like, abused him or something."

I have already reached the next stage of intoxication. The one in which I think I can explain the mystery of Josh Lyman's sensitive side. "He's got this almost little boy side to him that he won't let out. Like if he does, somebody will come along and beat him up for it. He's gotten burned more than a few times by being nice."

***

Charlie and I feed quarters into the jukebox while the women talk about the wedding. I think I punched in every Jimmy Buffett song they have, everything from Cheeseburger in Paradise to Son of a Son of a Sailor.

I am a closet Parrothead.

We're on our fourth round of beer, Donna has moved from her chair to my lap and my favorite song comes on. Apparently, other people like this song too. Most of the bar decides to sing along.

Of all the things I have seen during political campaigns, henceforth, the funniest one will be the Zoey Bartlet and Donnatella Moss rendition of the Jimmy Buffett classic "Why Don't We Get Drunk."

*

"I really do appreciate the fact you're sittin' here 

Your voice sounds so wonderful 

But your face don't look too clear 

So, Barmaid, bring a pitcher, another round of brew 

Honey, why don't we get drunk and screw."

*

Charlie and I are almost falling out of our chairs laughing at the two of them howling along to the words. Zoey is standing on a chair singing into her beer glass. Donna is still sitting on my lap. The impromptu lap dance I'm getting is incredibly arousing.

*

"Why don't we get drunk and screw 

I just bought a waterbed filled up for me and you 

They say you are a snuff queen, Honey, I don't think that's true 

So, why don't we get drunk and screw."

*

"Hey, Josh?" Donna whispers in my ear, taking note of my erection. "Let's get drunk and screw."

"Donna, you're already drunk," I point out. I am, unfortunately, sober. I stopped after the first one, figuring I'd have to drive back to Los Angeles.

She pouts for a second. "Let's just get to the screwing part then," she decides, not at all quietly.

Georgia, of course, picks that moment to deliver the burger I ordered to take back to Leo. "If you all want to see the sunset, you better get headed that way."

I leave enough cash on the table to cover the bill and a healthy tip before gathering the drunkards and heading for the car, carrying a strategically placed cheeseburger.

***

This no sex on the campaign trail is frustrating the hell out of me. It's been almost three weeks. I've tried every form of seduction I know to break through Josh's resolve to keep his promise to Leo.

Thus the lap dance earlier.

We're perched on a pile of rocks on a beach watching the sun sink below the Pacific. I'm sitting between Josh's legs, leaning back against him. His chin is resting on my shoulder and his arms are wrapped around me.

This is paradise.

"I want to do this forever," I sigh.

The sun finally drops out of sight. "I love you," Josh whispers before standing up.

"We could sneak over there," I point towards a deserted stretch of beach.

Josh's response is to laugh and not take any notice of my pouting, while dragging me back to the car 

***

Donna is drunk, so I'm ignoring the fake pout. This is an interesting switch. Usually I'm the one getting drunk, so I easily recognize the touchy-feely drunk stage that's causing me to practically carry her back to the car. Charlie and Zoey are passed out in the Suburban; Gina gives me a wave as they take off.

Thus leaving me with a drunk, giggling and horny Donnatella Moss.

"What's so funny?" I ask, pulling the Mustang onto U.S. Highway 1 South.

"You," she says, running her hand up the inside of my thigh. "You drove us three hours for a cheeseburger and a sunset. Who are you and what have you done with Joshua Lyman, Presidential attack dog?"

She punctuates the words attack dog' by squeezing poor Gary and Patrick.

I swallow a groan. "What's the matter with Josh Lyman, sensitive new age guy?"

Donna is undoing my shorts now. "See, that Josh would argue that what I am about to do would constitute breaking his promise to Leo."

***

"Donna, I'm trying to drive," Josh protests weakly but adjusting his hips nonetheless.

"You better not have an accident then," I tell him.

***

"Oh, God."

***

I wonder how long it will take him to beg. I'm trying to wear down his resistance in the hope there will be reciprocity tonight.

"Donna?" His voice is very strained.

Here it comes, I am da woman.

***

"Either do it, and when we get back to D.C. I'll make it worth your wait, or stop."

I am capable of compromise.

***

He's offering me a compromise?

I can work with this. "It will involve strawberries, whipped cream and champagne?"

Josh nods.

I bend back over his crotch.

***

I pull over at the next gas station so she can get a soda and I can zip my pants back up.

***

It's just after midnight when we swing by Leo's suite together so Josh can drop off the bribe.

"The drive okay?" Leo asks with a smirk, taking the greasy bag.

Josh shrugs a little. "Yeah. Why?"

"Because your boxers are caught in your zipper."


	12. Smelling Salts for All Democrats, Please

Tuesday, November 5, 2002.

Technically it is Tuesday. We've been working a last minute get out the vote' push for the past four days. My body still thinks it's Halloween. Anyway, it's 3 a.m. on Tuesday morning. Josh and Sam are putting the finishing touches on a giant dry erase map of the United States with projected outcomes of today's vote based on the latest polling numbers.

Blue for us, red for them and green for states that are in play. I'm looking at a lot of green.

The President and First Family are heading to New Hampshire in a couple of hours to vote. They are spending most of the day there before flying back here to wait with the rest of us.

Josh and Joey Lucas have built a phone bank next door to the War Room to monitor and conduct exit polling and to badger state party officials and individual precinct captains, if it comes to that. Toby, Sam and CJ will work the morning shows starting at 7 a.m.

Carol, Bonnie, Ginger, Margaret and I have each been assigned to monitor a TV network. I drew the CBS straw. Oh joy, Dan Rather. I doubt that will last long though, I'll be sidetracked into Josh-management before the polls even open in most states.

Leo is standing in the middle of the room looking around. Chaos reigns and the end-game hasn't even started yet. "Okay everybody!"

Pep talk time.

The only people here are the senior staff and senior assistants. We sent everyone, save a few interns, home to sleep and vote. The interns we sent upstairs three hours ago.

"I know you have all taken care of the important part of today. I know you have all mailed your absentee ballots."

"Oh, shit! I knew I was forgetting something." I can hear Josh pipe up from the other side of the room.

"JOSH!" Leo yells over the laughter.

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm joking. I'm joking!"

"Everybody find a spot of floor, get a couple hours sleep. Be up and ready by 6:30 a.m. I'm going to New Hampshire with the President. Josh, as much as this pains me, you're in charge until we get back. CJ and Toby, you're in charge of making sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

***

Donna and I head up to Toby's office to grab some shuteye. Spooning together, we barely fit on the narrow, yet comfortable couch.

"Nervous?" she asks.

I hug her tighter. "A little."

"We'll win," she informs me.

"You've been playing with Sam's Magic 8 Ball again, haven't you?"

"I went off the pill."

I hate it when she does that sudden conversation swerve thing. "What?"

"It took Pat six months to get pregnant after she stopped taking it."

I am not following this conversation. "Start over, Donna."

"I had my annual exam two weeks ago and talked to my gynecologist about how long it would take to get pregnant. You you said you wanted kids." Her voice trembles slightly.

"Yeah. Kids. We're having like a case of them. Together. You just threw it out of left field a minute ago is all." I'm good with kids. I want kids. I want Donna to have my kids. Lots of kids.

"It takes a couple months or so to get pregnant after you stop taking the pill." Donna explains. "And we are not having a case of them."

"So when is that?" I'm fried. I'm lucky I know today is Election Day, don't ask me to know the name of next month.

"January or February. Providing we have sex between now and then." She giggles into my t-shirt.

"So I guess we're not practicing anymore, are we?"

"Playing for real now, slugger," she murmurs.

The rigors of the past week overwhelm the news Donna just gave me and we both drift off to sleep.

***

"Miss Moss?"

A timid, young voice is trying to break through the web of warmth that surrounds me.

"Miss Moss?"

An insistent, timid, young voice.

"Donnatella!"

That voice is much closer to my ear. It is neither timid nor young and it is very annoying in its present tone. If he's going to wake me up by calling my name, I prefer the I wanna make love to you' Barry White voice.

"Mr. Lyman?"

That young, timid voice just got very, very squeaky. Not unlike a dog toy. I pry my eyelids apart to see a very new, very shocked intern standing in the doorway to Toby's office gawking at us. While Josh and I haven't hidden our relationship, we didn't take out an ad in the Washington Post either.

"Get up," he groans.

"You first."

"Ms. Cregg is looking for both of you." The intern, whose name is Debbie I think, is still squeaking. That has to stop.

"Go tell her we were both clothed when you found us," Josh orders, tossing the blanket on the floor, revealing us to be in the clothes we were wearing yesterday.

"Yes, sir." Debbie is very skittish. Everything intimidates her**. **The only reason I remember her name is she reminds me of myself at that age.

"We're here until 5?" I question, leading Josh towards his office. I stashed two overnight bags there with enough clothes for three days.

"Yeah. Then we move to the campaign headquarters over at the Willard. Bruno has everything set up identical to the War Room over here."

We find CJ, Sam and Toby outside the Press Room. CJ is putting on earrings preparation for her TV appearances. The guys are drinking coffee like it's going out of style.

"You two need to either to take out a billboard or stop scaring the interns," CJ admonishes with a twinkle in her eye.

"Actually, I thought we'd go shower," Josh purrs, snaking one hand around my waist.

Toby cracks a smile for the first time in days at the horrified look on CJ's face. "You walked right into that."

Josh smirks at her for a moment before softening his smile. "Polls open in most of the eastern states in 15 minutes. I should start getting exit polling around 8. We're going to do this, guys, but it's going to be tight. Be positive out there."

We all nod, cautious optimism - the watchwords for the day.

***

The senior assistant TV news monitoring crew' has recruited a brigade of interns to back us up so we can leave as we are needed.

It's about 7:30, still in the midst of the morning shows, when Josh suddenly barks from the phone bank. "Somebody turn the damn Weather Channel on! Now!"

I flip from CBS to TWC. Oh, no. They're airing a live picture from Bismarck, North Dakota. The screen shows nothing but solid white with a bar that says Live in Bismarck, ND.' Silence descends on the War Room when I crank the volume.

"State forecasters are expecting the winds to pick up and visibility to drop to zero by noon today. In the outlying, rural areas most roads are already impassable. 20 inches of snow is expected to fall across the state by 7 o'clock local time tonight."

Josh picks up a phone, waving for me and Margaret. "Call these guys," he hands us a stack of names and phone numbers of North Dakota precinct captains. "Tell them to encourage people to get out and vote early. I don't care if they have to get voters to the polling places on dog sleds. It's going to make the difference when North Dakota is a fucking disaster area."

We nod and grab phones.

"Bonnie!" he hollers for her attention. "Go get CJ and Toby. Get them down here now!"

***

I hang up the phone after talking to the state party chair. He assures me this could work for us. Most of the state's Democrats live in the cities, where the roads will still be passable for a few more hours. They are working the phones and while turnout will be extremely light, hopefully most of it will be for us.

Toby and CJ materialize together, looking pissed off. 

"You've got two minutes, this better be good," Toby growls.

"There's a freak blizzard pounding North Dakota that nobody saw coming," I point towards the TV we've dedicated to The Weather Channel. The screen is still solid white, only now it's showing Minot.

"A freak blizzard? In North Dakota? Josh, why do I care about this?" CJ demands, glancing at her watch.

"What are you doing?" Toby stares at the television.

"Trying to get the vote out early. Before the Department of Transportation closes the state down. "

"Odds?" He is terse. We were counting on a good showing in the upper Midwest to balance Ritchie's strength in the Southwest.

"In our favor." As I say that, something Leo said early this morning comes back to me. 

"Josh?" 

I barely register CJ's voice and ignore her to pick the phone up again to call the state guy back. If this works, we'll take North Dakota. I have a gut feeling that North Dakota is going to be the deciding factor and I don't know why.

***

Joey Lucas is running the exit polling data through me, since Josh has focused on the North Dakota Blizzard from Hell and his premonition. All the rural roads in the state were closed by 10 a.m. Josh claims he has a plan. 

The only thing he'll tell anyone, including Toby and Bruno, is that North Dakota is a fucking disaster area.

It looks like our estimates are pretty accurate. The Northeast is ours from Maine to Pennsylvania. Ritchie has a lock on the Southeast, although Florida is still in play. The Ohio River Valley looks like somebody splattered random colors on it and the Midwest isn't any better.

We threw the key away on California a long time ago and despite the President's dislike of green beans, Oregon will probably fall in line as well. Washington is ours; Idaho is not. Montana, Wyoming, Colorado and Utah lean to Ritchie with New Mexico. Arizona ought to be ours.

It's noon before I realize I haven't had breakfast yet.

***

It's 3 p.m. in DC making it 2 p.m. in North Dakota. The Governor just closed down the state and declared a state of emergency. He's mobilizing the National Guard to find stranded motorists and imposing at 3 p.m. curfew. The forecast of 20 inches has been revised to 28 inches by nightfall and 36 inches by the morning.

We hadn't called the Governor, who is a Republican, for fear of the appearance of impropriety. Now that he's shut the state down, it's safe for the President to call him and offer federal assistance. 

"North Dakota is a fucking disaster area! Can we get somebody from the National Weather Service down here to explain this to me?" I demand of the room at large. "Where in the hell does 3 feet of snow come from without anybody noticing it's on the way?"

Donna shoots me a glare from the map where she's scribbling down exit poll data. 

"Please." I add, contritely. 

***

"What the hell is going on?" Leo bursts into the War Room.

"North Dakota is a fucking disaster area," the entire staff choruses. I might have said that a few too many times today.

"North Dakota has 3 electoral votes, Josh, and hasn't gone to a Democrat since Johnson in 1964!" Leo rips into me. 

I'm standing with Donna in front of the map. I hate it when I'm right, this is going to be the closest election in a hundred years.

***

Josh can barely balance his checkbook and he sure as hell can't tell time. So, I do not understand how he can do electoral math in his head, the freak.

Leo cuts his tirade short when he sees what we're looking at. "Ritchie's going to give us a run for our money."

"Maybe, but I've got a plan. We're going to win this thing, Leo."

"I've got a thousand dollars that it goes to the House," he replies softly, so no one else can hear him.

"You're on." Josh is supremely confident.

***

At 5 o'clock we shut down the War Room and move to campaign headquarters at the Willard Hotel, a couple blocks up the street. Bruno is in charge here and there's not much we can really doexcept wait.

When we get there, I force Josh to eat for the first time all day. He's wound tighter than a tick.

By six, Bruno is a half a step from ripping his throat out. He doesn't share Josh's belief that North Dakota is the all-important key. He's busy focusing on Florida, Ohio and Texas. Three states Josh and Leo wrote off a week ago.

"Josh, come with me," I take him by the arm and bodily drag him away from yet another argument with Bruno and Doug. 

"Donna!" He starts to object when I plant him in an easy chair in front of my TV. I'm still watching CBS. He stops objecting when I crawl onto his lap, effectively trapping him in the chair. Debbie, the intern I adopted, stares at me like I've grown two heads.

"Sit down and shut up," I instruct.

"Can we at least have a couch?"

CJ and Toby wander over and sit down on the floor. "Will you quit with the bitching?" CJ shakes her head at him.

Fifteen minutes of forced inactivity will either put Josh to sleep for a couple of hours or make him worse.

***

It's 7:30, another hour and a half until the polls start to close. Our data show nobody getting 270 and this thing going to the House of Representatives. It doesn't include North Dakota because all nonessential, nonresidential power is off there. When the polls close, they'll have to count the ballots by hand. Bruno is giving those 3 electors to Ritchie on historical precedent.

That makes it 269 for Ritchie, 268 for us. 

In an effort to take our minds off the waiting, CJ starts asking about the wedding. I've been a little preoccupied to help with the planning. Donna put her mother in charge of almost everything. I was instructed to find 4 groomsmen by Thanksgiving and to be prepared to have a prenuptial discussion with the officiating minister.

I have a best man. 

Donna has a maid of honor, CJ, and three bridesmaids, Zoey Bartlet, Margaret and her sister Pat.

I have Sam.

***

By eight, Josh is badgering Bruno again. Leo pulls me aside and hands me a room key. 

"This is to the Presidential suite next door," he whispers. "I don't care what you do to him, but calm him down. The President and First Lady are coming over here to mingle for an hour or so."

Josh and Doug are going toe to toe over Texas. They've drawn quite a crowd of people who have nothing better to do than watch Josh destroy Doug. Something we've all wanted to do for a long time.

I hate to interrupt the fun, but I have my orders. Worming through the gathered spectators, I finally reach the center. Once there, I grab Josh by the tie and drag him out the door.

"Hey!" He protests, but follows. That could have to do with the fact that I still have his tie in my hand.

The two suites share a wall, but not a door. We run into the President and Mrs. Bartlet on our way. "Everything under control, Donna?" The glint in the President's eye tells me he knows exactly what my orders are.

"Yes, sir."

***

Donna opens the door to the President's private suite and pushes me in ahead of her. Slamming the door shut, she wraps her arms around my waist. "You need to calm down."

She's using her seductive voice. 

Any response I might have made is lost to the kiss she presses to my lips. I can feel it deep in my soul. When she finally releases me, it's only to lead me to the bed.

The President's bed.

"What are we doing here?"

"Leo gave me the key and told me to calm you down."

I smirk, making short work of my tie and shirt. "He did, did he?"

"We have an hour." Donna is naked in a flash. "Lie down."

Kicking the rest of my clothes off, I do as I am told. "There's something slightly disturbing about this."

"Roll over." She instructs, straddling my hips.

An involuntary groan escapes me when Donna begins kneading my rock hard shoulders. Five minutes under her ministrations has something else rock hard and I'm groaning for different reasons. I don't know how she knows the difference, but her lips immediately replace her fingers. Gentle kisses meander down my spine.

***

The tension flows from Josh's body when my lips touch his skin. Moving down his back, I take the time to properly appreciate the cutest butt in politics. More moaning.

I love the moaning.

I start kissing the sensitive flesh on his sides, the moans deepen and Josh rolls himself onto his back. 

"We're playing for real?" His voice is deep with desire.

***

When we've finished, I relax against his knees, closing my eyes for a moment. Deep down I wonder what Josh is really thinking as he lies there on his back, sweaty and satisfied.

***

I reach for Donna's hand. The left one, with the ring I gave her on it. Our fingers entwine in a moment of calm amidst the uncertainty that fills the day. In five months this woman will be my wife. With any kind of luck, within a year, this woman will be the mother of my child. In this moment of calm, I promise myself that they will always be my priority.

"I love you," I whisper so softly I doubt she heard me.

Opening her eyes, she smiles at me. 

***

My smile reflects back in Josh's eyes, bright with an emotion I've never seen before.

"What?" Curiosity overwhelms me.

His fingers squeeze mine. "Just thinking."

"About what?" I press, leaning forward to snuggle against his chest.

"Us. The future."

"We're going to win tonight."

"No. Our future, our family."

Josh surprises me every once in a while. This is one of those times. My reply is cut short by a ringing cellphone. Josh takes the call and I slip into the bathroom to clean up. He finishes his call before I get dressed again. 

Joining me, he tries to look annoyed by the large hickey I left in plain sight on his neck. We're usually pretty careful to leave those in places nobody else will see.

***

It's about 8:45 when we return to the other room. To a round of applause and calls of Oh my God, Donna!' Guess the walls aren't as soundproof as I thought they were.

I might die of embarrassment. CJ makes a huge production out of the hickey on my neck, making sure Sam gets pictures of it for the campaign scrapbook. 

"Calmer?" Leo smirks at me when I drop the key in his lap. 

"You're funny."

***

The fun ends when every network goes on the air at 9 o'clock.

The early returns favor us: Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, all of New England and the Mid-Atlantic states go for Bartlet. We're up 109 to nothing by 9:30 p.m.

10 p.m. brings the next wave of poll closings and solid predications for the South. The lead totters back and forth as they call states. Bruno's camp groans when they call Ohio for Ritchie. Texas falls next. At 10:45, it's a 26-vote gap. Ritchie is up 198 to 172.

That's when I finally start listening to the crap that's coming out of Dan Rather's mouth. 

"Ritchie swept through the South like a tornado through a trailer park."

What the hell?

I'm mentally reviewing what's left out there when they finally call Florida for Ritchie at 11:45. 

Ol' Dan says it for me. "The big burrito is still out there in California. So, don't bet the trailer money yet."

What is this guy's fascination with trailer parks? California is 54, Oregon and Washington another 18. That should close the gap a bit. Ritchie's sitting at 246. We haven't budged since 10:15.

That changes at midnight when the polls finally close on the West Coast. The big three and a straggling Michigan extinguish the gap. We're sitting tied at 266 with 6 electoral votes left out there: Montana and North Dakota.

"This race is as tight as the lug nuts on a '57 Ford!"

"Donna, this guy is killing me," I whine.

She and Debbie have gone mad listening to it. "You missed some of the best ones, Josh! Debbie, tell him what he missed." She sounds like a game show sidekick.

The squeaky little intern pulls out a notepad. "There was: this race is tight like a too small bathing suit on a too long ride home from the beach' It's about as complicated as a wiring diagram to some dynamo.'" She looks up at me and grins before continuing. "My personal favorite so far smelling salts for all Democrats, please' when they called California."

"Enough!"

***

In a fluke, Montana comes in 12:15 a.m. for Bartlet. 

"Well, folks the only thing left out there is North Dakota. The delay is in the hand-counting of ballots by state election officials."

At 1 a.m., they start to get preliminary reports out of the more populous precincts. That's about the time they get a live interview with Dave Tillman, the chairman of the North Dakota Democratic Party. Dave explains that he and his people have been out all day, delivering absentee ballots to people who called their county auditor and requested one, then returning the ballots to the auditors' offices. He even drove a bunch of people to their polling places on his snowmobile. Everything they did was cleared through the Secretary of State's office, the very Republican Secretary of State.

Yeah, those absentee ballots are amazing things, aren't they?

It is an hour later when they call North Dakota and its three electoral votes for Josiah Bartlet; giving us 272 electoral votes and sealing our reelection.

***

The cheer that erupts from the room is deafening. Josh is doing some sort of very bizarre victory dance in the center of the room, while being mobbed by the staff.

***

Donna vaults from the chair she's been in and launches herself into my arms. "You did it!" she screams.

I did indeed.

Sam wraps his arms around both of us. "Absentee ballots, Josh? That was the plan?"

"Don't knock it, baby!"

Bartlet puts Ritchie's concession call on speakerphone. He sounds pissed as hell that they didn't think of it first, but congratulates Bartlet on a hard-fought victory. 

We won the popular vote by just over a million votes, in case you care.


	13. Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade of Giblet...

Thursday, November 28, 2002.

Mom and I are sitting at my kitchen table, drinking coffee when a rumpled, sleepy Donna emerges from our bedroom. I smile into the paper when she pauses to run her fingers through my hair, tilting my face up so she can give me a kiss.

"Good morning."

She yawns before mumbling a reply. Donna is not functional in the morning until she's had coffee or sex. Preferably both. This morning she's had neither.

Pouring herself a cup, she looks slightly disconcerted. "Shouldn't I be smelling turkey by now?"

I glance from the sports page to the clock. I put the thing in about an hour ago; it should maybe smell a little. Sniffing the air, I head to the oven. The oven that contains a twenty-pound fresh turkey that I got up at seven o'clock this morning to stuff. 

The oven that I forgot to turn on. 

Shit.

Both my mother and Donna start to giggle uncontrollably.

"Guess we'll be eating a little later than planned," Mom gasps.

Somehow, my forgetting to turn the oven on is the perfect capper to this very bizarre week. 

Monday, for example, Donna was possessed by Satan. That's what Ginger claimed, anyway.

***

Monday, November 25, 2002

9:30 a.m.

*bing*

"Donna!"

It takes her a full minute to wander into my office. 

"What?"

"It binged." I point at the new computer maintenance installed over the weekend. 

"Binged?" She repeats.

I want my old computer back. I knew where everything was, I had figured out what all of the noises meant and I was capable of operating it. This thing is possessed. I've been fighting with it since 7:30 this morning, but this is the first time I've resorted to asking Donna for help. She is standing in my doorway with her arms crossed looking at me like I'm fundamentally stupid.

"That's it," She snaps. "IT is coming up here and giving you one of those Macintosh laptops that Sam and CJ have. Any moron can use those."

"Donna," I'm trying to be patient, but I think I might be whining. "I just wanna know why it goes bing."

"What are you? Like six? It just bings. If you don't like it, change the sound effect. Better yet, check your damn email." She huffs and storms back to her desk to call the computer geeks up here again.

Oh. My email. Where the hell did my email icon go? 

From Donna's desk I hear, "Upper left hand corner, fourth icon down. Looks like a little LETTER!"

What the hell did I do and how the hell does she do that?

Great, it's from my mother. I forgot to call her yesterday like I was supposed to.

To: jlyman@whitehouse.gov

From: elisalyman@hotmail.com

Subject: Flight Info

Joshua:

Since you seem to be incapable of operating a telephone, I decided to try email. I wanted to let you know my flight gets in to National Wednesday at 9 a.m. You are still off on Wednesday, right? I am not flying up there and cooking dinner by myself. You WILL help.

Have you considered inviting Leo?

Love, Mom.

Standing up and stretching, I meander out of my office to Donna's desk. The glare she gives me when I plant my ass on her desk almost makes me wish I'd yelled from the safety of my office. 

"What now?" 

Definitely should have stayed in my office.

"Mom wants to invite Leo to Thanksgiving dinner."

"Can we talk about this tonight? I'm busy and you've got a meeting with the House GAO liaison in fifteen minutes." Donna effectively dismisses me by returning to her research.

I give up. Not only is my new computer possessed, so is my assistant.

"Yeah, sure. I'm sorry I bugged you. I'm going to head over to the GAO." I bail before she hurls something at my head. 

The path out of the West Wing takes me past the coffee machine where CJ is tanking up on caffeine after her morning briefing. 

"What's the matter, mi amour?" CJ is as chipper as Donna is pissy. 

I'm not sure which is worse.

"Donna's in a mood," I admit, matching strides with her.

"What the hell did you do?" She demands just as I hang a right into the lobby.

Walking backwards through security, I shrug my shoulders. "If you can figure it out, let me know, so I can fix it."

***

I come back around 1:30. Trying to make up for whatever sin I committed, I drop a chicken salad sandwich off on Donna's desk on the way to my office. Ten minutes later, I discover that was a bad move when the sandwich, sans plastic container, is unceremoniously dropped on the report I'm reading.

"Jackass." I hear her mutter as she stalks out of my office.

What the hell did I do? 

I know this isn't PMS, that was supposed to be last week. I keep a calendar in my drawer so I can prepare for it. Sam stumbles into my office as I contemplate what I could have possibly done. He's looking over his shoulder at my assistant.

"What the hell did you do?"

I dump the report, sandwich and all, in the trash. "I have no idea. Do me a favor? See if Ginger will make me another copy of FEMA's 2003 disaster projections?"

"They make disaster projections?"

"It's not like they're accurate. They just guess how many floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, wildfires and crap there will be and how much it's going to cost us each year. I've got a meeting with Tom Ludwig tomorrow afternoon and I need to know their projections. Donna just ruined my copy with a chicken salad sandwich."

"Sure. What are your Thanksgiving plans?"

"They have something to do with my mother. What's up?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," he stammers when Donna stalks back into my office.

"Hoynes. 5 minutes. OEOB." She snarls.

***

Meeting with the Vice-President is a blessing compared to my office. On my way back, I detour through Leo's office. Bypassing Margaret, I knock on his open door.

"What's going on, Josh?" he asks, motioning for me to come in and close the door.

"I don't want to go back to my office," I confess.

"I heard Donna was on a rampage. What the hell did you do?"

Shrugging my shoulders, I slump into a chair. "Leo, swear to God, I have no idea."

"Word is she dumped a chicken salad sandwich on your FEMA report."

"Yeah," I answer, staring at my shoes.

"You want my advice?"

"Sure."

"Hide in your office with the door closed for the rest of the day."

"Probably safest. Hey, Mom wants you to come over for Thanksgiving dinner."

"Elisa's coming up here?" Leo stops what he's doing and looks up at me.

What the hell is this? I know that look. I get that look. Sam and Toby have both described it as the specific look I get when I'm talking about Donna.

"Turkey. Thursday. 1 o'clock. Bring that cranberry crap." I inform him, opening his door to go. I can't handle more than one romantic problem at a time and mine gets priority today. My problem involves swinging by the mess to grab another peace offering. Because the last one went over so well.

***

I am slowly dragging my way through the hallways. When I hit the ops bullpen, it's all I can do to not burst out laughing. Someone, probably Ed and Larry, hung crime scene tape all around the bullpen and drew a chalk outline in the middle of the hallway. I think it's funnier than hell, but from the look Donna shoots my way I don't think she is amused.

"Donna?" I tentatively peek through the yellow tape surrounding her desk.

"What?" She doesn't bother to look up.

"I got this for you." I hand over the piece of chocolate silk pie hesitantly, petrified that I'll have to duck if she decides to throw it at me.

"Thanks." She takes the pie with one hand, still typing with the other.

Her acceptance of the pie makes me think whatever possessed Donna has eased its grip. Then I hear the thunk of the pie container landing in the trashcan. 

At least she didn't throw it at my head. 

I high-tail it into my office and slam the door shut. The rest of my day is reviewing reports. I can feasibly not leave my office until tomorrow morning.

Two hours later a sharp rap on my door pulls my attention from a recap of this year's hurricane related insurance losses. Toby slips into my office concern deepening the creases in his face.

"First of all, your entire staff is insane. Secondly, Ginger refused to bring this over after she heard about the pie incident. Evidently the destruction of chocolate silk pie is cause for an exorcism." Toby tosses me the FEMA report. "What the hell did you do?"

I drop the damage estimates and pick up the projections, flipping through them. "I have no idea, but I'm not leaving my office until she goes home. Unless the President can arrange an emergency, you know, exorcism."

Toby shuffles his feet, regarding me out of the corner of his eye. "You do realize you have to deal with this when you go home?"

"Yeah, but I can perform an exorcism of my own there," I grin at him. Toby hates it when I talk about my sex life. He glares at me and leaves.

I do as Leo advised and spend the rest of the day in my office with the door shut. Bored stiff, I have resorted to honing my computer game skills. Another knock interrupts my latest round of Tetris. Quickly grabbing the FEMA report, I pretend to immerse myself in it before yelling, "come in."

Donna sticks her head in. "It's 8:30, I'm going home."

"Take the car," I tell her, without looking up from my reports. "I'll be right behind you."

***

It's about 9:30 when I get home. I drop my bag by the door as I hang up my coat, kick my shoes off and collapse on the couch with the remote and ESPN.

The next thing I feel is a gentle kiss on my lips.

"Donna?" I mumble, cracking my eyes open.

"I didn't mean to wake you." I can feel her breath on my face. She took my tie and socks off and covered me with a quilt.

Stretching out, I sit up. "It's okay. If I sleep out here, I'll just end up with a crick in my neck and a sore back."

Donna sits next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. Her hair is still damp and she smells like flowers. "I'm sorry I was such a bitch today."

"You want to tell me what I did? So I don't do it again?" I shrug my shoulder to nudge her.

"You didn't do anything. I was just having a bad day and I took it out on you." She leans over, rewarding me with a deep kiss. "Come to bed, Joshua."

I grab her hand, keeping her on the sofa by wrapping my other arm around her shoulders. "Wait. I want to talk about Thanksgiving first."

"Leo." She confirms with some disbelief.

"They're old friends. Mom probably just wants someone, other than me, to talk to about Dad," I explain, trying to banish the image of Leo's face from my mind.

"If it will make your mom happy, then it sounds fine. I only see one problem."

"What?"

"Well, I've never actually cooked a turkey before. I'm not sure I want to start by making one for our boss."

That admission earns her a laugh. I pull her into my lap, kissing her neck. "Donna, your culinary skills are limited to grilled cheese and soup. I wasn't expecting you to cook dinner. That's my job," I tease, undoing her robe and running my hand slowly down her belly. 

"That's right. I managed to find myself a man who can tell a spatula from a spoon." She sounds inordinately proud of that feat.

"Joshua?"

"Donnatella?" I mumble, not wanting to remove my mouth from her collarbone; my hand has trailed its way between her thighs.

"Let's go to bed."

She picks the remote up from the coffee table, clicking the TV off before leading me into the bedroom. Donna brushes my hand away when I reach to touch her. She sways closer to me, slowly undoing the buttons on my dress shirt. I start to help, but she stops me again. 

"Don't make me tie you to the bed," she whispers in my ear, peeling the shirt from my body. My undershirt goes next. This is going to be one of those do-as-Donna-says nights. I love it when she does this.

***

"You are amazing." I roll over onto my back and shift up the bed. "Come here." She cuddles up next to me, pressing luscious kisses to my chest.

"What can I do for you?" I ask. What Donna did for me needs to be reciprocated.

"I stopped on the way home and got ice cream." 

"Ice cream?" This could be fun; Donna is extremely creative with food.

"I think I want to save it for tomorrow though." Her yawn betrays how long a day it has been.

Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I pull her closer. "Tomorrow it is."

***

Monday may have ended well, but Tuesday turned into a parade of giblet fools all wanting to avoid dinner with the President. I couldn't care less about any of them.

All I wanted to do was take Donna home and eat ice cream.

***

Tuesday, November 26, 2002.

8 a.m.

My post-coital glow is back today. So is Donna's. 

We are both obviously in better moods, which might be why I can see Sam lurking around Donna's desk. He's wearing a look similar to the one I'm sure adorned my features yesterday.

I hear Donna allow him access. "He's playing Tetris. Go on in, Sam."

"Hey, Josh," he says, closing the door quietly behind him.

"What's up?" I look up briefly before returning to the computer game.

"Another new computer?" Sam asks, not answering my question. The desktop PC is gone and I'm hunched over a PowerBook that's set on a stack of old Congressional Records.

"I asked Donna one lousy question yesterday and she went off the deep end. They took away the replacement and left me this thing."

He walks around behind me to look over my shoulder at the laptop. It's newer than his. Envy radiates off his body.

Finished inspecting the new computer, he takes a seat. His eyes narrow at me briefly. "Do you get laid every night?"

"Does this have anything to do with what the hell is her name?" I ask, closing down my Tetris game. Since I obviously can't criticize Donna's love life anymore, Sam was the next logical choice. I have become a yente. 

"Alex. Her name is Alex," he growls defensively.

"Okay. Alex. Does this have anything to do with Alex?" Leaning back in my chair, I plant my feet on the desk.

"Yes. Alex decided I was not devoting enough time to our relationship," Sam admits. 

I nod. Been there, done that. "Sam, you break up with women all the time. What's the deal?"

"Rumor has it there's a giblet alternative this year to the annual Presidential Turkey Trivia session this year."

"You were supposed to go to Alex's for Thanksgiving?" At his nod, I bellow for Donna at the top of my lungs. Sam flinches, but he's the one who closed the damn door.

She slams it open and glares at me. "It is eight o'clock in the morning, Joshua. Must you bellow so early?"

"Sam is homeless for Thursday."

She turns her faux glare on Sam. "Good." 

Donna didn't like Alex either. She nods at my unspoken question and heads back to her desk.

"Dinner's at one. Bring rolls," I tell him.

***

CJ is in my office when I return from a morning meeting with the DNC regarding inauguration plans. We're thinking about going with a 20s swing theme.

"What?" I demand from the doorway.

She's sitting at my desk, drooling over the laptop.

"Yours is newer than mine. It's got the new high-speed processor and OS X."

"No, CJ. What do you want?" I turn my back and start writing notes for the staff ball on the white board.

"Sam gets an invitation to a covert turkey and giblet dinner and I don't?"

Whoops, CJ sounds a bit ticked. And does anybody actually like giblets?

"Sam came in and begged. I have no idea how he heard about it, CJ. It started as just my mom, then she wanted to invite Leo and then Sam invited himself," I'm rambling, trying to get myself out of this hole.

"What? I'm just supposed to just attend dinner with the President? He's planning a lecture on the history of those hats the pilgrims wore, Josh."

"Dinner's at one. Bring the wine." I relent. Nobody, except maybe Doug, deserves that lecture.

***

Toby makes his presence known in my doorway simply from the weight of his stare. Looking up, I sigh, continuing my review of the newest budget numbers. "One o'clock. Bring beer, chips and dip for the Cowboys-Redskins game."

Donna replaces Toby. "I invited Margaret on the condition that she stop telling people. She's bringing marshmallow salad."

"The pink fluffy crap?" I make a face. I hate that stuff. "What does that bring the total to?"

"Eight. You are off tomorrow though, so you can find a turkey and get most of it out of the way. Josh, it's after seven. You're done. I'm done. Let's go home."

Shutting the laptop, I grin at her. "Ice cream?"

"You and me and Ben and Jerry."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Karamel Sutra."

Donna finds it necessary to spend the entire drive home with her hands in my crotch. Add that to the fact that I spent most of the day thinking about what to do with the ice cream and I can barely walk.

By the time we get upstairs, I'm ready to say the hell with Ben & Jerry. Slamming the door shut behind us, I press Donna up against it.

"You're so mean," I tell her before devouring her lips. Holding her to the door with the kiss, I undo my trousers.

When I reach my hand up her skirt, I discover two things. First, it's a garter day. Second, yeah second

***

"I'm mean?" She demands after we untangle ourselves.

"You're just going to have to wait." I reply.

She follows me into the bedroom. "This is so not fair."

Hanging up my suit, I turn to leer at her. Then I realize that I am totally naked and she is fully clothed. Leering should be her job.

"Get naked. Meet me in the living room." I strut into the kitchen to grab a spoon and the Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra. This is new. Hmm, a core of soft caramel encircled by chocolate and caramel ice creams and fudge chips. This could be very fun.

Donna fails to completely follow my instructions. She leaves the garters and stockings on. I'm sitting on the sofa waiting for her. My nod at the coffee table in front of me tells her where I want her to sit. This one is much sturdier than the old one.

I move to the floor between her legs. As much as the garters excite me, they've got to go. Donna's blue eyes sparkle at me when I start unsnapping the stockings.

Slowly, I roll them down her legs with the palms of my hands. Finally reaching her toes, I toss the stockings over my shoulder without breaking the eye contact I have with Donna.

Her toes are what I was after. Donna loves it when I suck them. Massaging her foot, I do each toe in turn.

"I changed my mind." Her voice is doing that thing where it gets all low and sultry.

Changing feet, I just cock an eyebrow at her.

"You aren't so mean," she informs me.

Finished with her feet, I run my hands up her legs until I encounter her hands on her thighs. 

"Come sit with me." Leaning back against the sofa, I nod at the ice cream and pull gently on her hands.

"There's only one spoon," Donna observes, sitting between my legs. She's facing me, with her legs over mine.

Cracking the top of the container open, I stick a finger in. It's dripping with half-melted ice cream when I run it across Donna's lips, allowing her to lick it off.

"Good?"

"Very."

I stick the spoon in, this time coming up with mostly caramel and chocolate ice cream. Offering it to Donna, at the last moment, I pop it in my own mouth. Then kiss the pout off her face. When she pries my lips apart with her tongue, she encounters the taste of the ice cream. 

***

Dropping my butt to the floor, I land on the damn spoon.

"Ouch! Shit."

Helping me get up, Donna kisses the little spoon indention on my butt. Crawling onto the sofa, we spoon together under the quilt we left out last night. I can't think of a better way to spend a quiet evening than naked on the sofa, watching TV with Donna.

***

I doubt the chocolate stain will ever come out of the carpet. 

Something I'm not sure I understand lately is Donna's suddenly insatiable sex drive. Don't get me wrong, we have a lot of sex. It's just a little weird lately is all. 

She's having mood swings, she was a little sick the past couple of mornings. There are a couple of other things I've noticed. I'm not completely stupid, I can add to three.

Maybe I'll ask my mother about it.

***

Wednesday, November 27, 2002.

I spot my mother scanning the concourse from my perch near a column. I lean against it until she spots me, looking like I don't have a care in the world.

"Who are you and what have you done with my son?" She rakes an appraising eye over me.

"You've been telling me to relax my entire life, Mamme," I laugh, wrapping her up in a hug. "I finally take your advice and this is what I get?"

We pick up her luggage and head out. It's snowing, so I leave Mom in the terminal and go to get the car. 

"How are things, Joshua?" she asks. From the tone of her voice, I know what she's asking about.

I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. "I don't know," I tell her honestly. "I mean Donna's mother is taking care of the cake, the reception hall, the DJ, the church, the food and the booze. She even found a place for the rehearsal dinner. Donna has her dress. The bridesmaids dresses are covered. I finally scraped up some groomsmen who already own tuxes. We hired one of the White House photographers. In fact, the engagement pictures are supposed to be back today. But we haven't ordered invitations and I have a feeling those should be mailed soon."

By the time I finish explaining the hazards of wedding planning around a presidential election and stop to pick up a turkey, we're home.

Mom installs herself in the spare bedroom to change clothes. I head for the kitchen to start working on the pies. Which is where she finds me, covered in flour, rolling out piecrust. 

"When did I teach you that?"

I learned to cook from my mother, but baking is something she absolutely hates. I figure if I do this, she'll make her oyster stuffing. 

"Why don't you peel an apple or twelve?" I reply, pointing my rolling pin at a bag near the sink.

By the time I make two apple pies, two pumpkin pies and a loaf of pumpkin bread, I'm feeling cocky enough to try a chocolate mousse. Mom peeled the apples and then stole half of them for her stuffing. After that she moved on to a corn casserole she refuses to give me the recipe to. She has also been picking at me all afternoon. She thinks something is bothering me. She's sort of right.

Finally finishing the mousse, I check the clock. It's almost 5. Donna was planning on leaving work at 5:30. Having spent the entire day in the kitchen, I have no desire to cook dinner. Grabbing the phone, I settle for Chinese take-out.

After I hang up the phone, Mom looks up from the potatoes she's peeling to take one last shot at me. "You want to tell me what's wrong before you have to go get that?"

Grabbing another knife, I start to quarter the peeled potatoes, finally opening up. "Donna went off the pill last month." 

The tiniest grin starts to form on my mother's face. 

"Her sister had all kinds of problems getting pregnant," I continue.

"Joshua, I know your father had this discussion with you many, many years ago," she laughs, trying to lighten my mood a bit.

"Mamme, you're killing me, you really are," I tease her back. "It's just the past couple of mornings Donna's been a little sick. Not like vomiting, but not feeling well either. And she's late."

"How late?" The tiny grin expands exponentially.

"A little over a week," I admit.

"Have you two talked about it?"

"Having kids? Yeah, we both want kids. That's not it."

"No, Joshua. About this," she makes a motion with her knife indicating what I just told her.

"Not yet. Don't tell her I said anything, please. I don't want her to worry, you know?"

"I'm going to give you one piece of advice, one word of warning. Pregnancy sends some women's sexual desire into overdrive."

While that might have been the answer I was looking for, I am not having this conversation with my mother.

***

Thursday, November 28, 2002.

I have been abused, coerced, threatened and pumped for information more times than I can count since Monday. Which is why it is no surprise that I forgot to turn the damn oven on. At least I remembered to put the turkey in it.

Sam shows up first, dinner rolls in hand. Mom greets him at the door.

"Samuel!" She holds him at arms length, subjecting him to her critical eye. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Mom." He cracks a smile for her before tossing me the rolls. I'm in the kitchen mixing mimosas for the women.

"No football in the house!" is shouted at us from two directions.

"You know it's only 11, right?" I hand Sam a sample glass.

"I wanted to see the Detroit-New England game." He gestures to the TV in the corner with his glass. The game has just kicked off.

Mom and Donna have appropriated the living room TV to watch all the parades while they gossip about me and my apparently long-standing inability to pick up my underwear. Sam and I hide in the kitchen with the Pats game.

It's the second quarter when CJ and Toby show up together.

"Dinner's going to be closer to 2." I hear Donna tell them after she introduces my mother. 

"Why?" CJ asks.

"Joshua forgot to turn the oven on." My own mother blabs.

I set another pitcher of mimosas on the coffee table and hand CJ a glass. "One word, CJ. One word and I'm calling Charlie to come get you. You'll spend the day listening to the pilgrim lecture."

"How's the wedding planning, Donna?" CJ pours herself a drink and settles onto the sofa.

Toby follows me into the kitchen, evidently preferring football to wedding talk any day.

I know Margaret arrives when a bowl full of that pink fluffy shit lands on the table in front of us. From the raucous laughter in the living room, I can tell they aren't talking about the wedding anymore. 

"What do you think they're talking about?" Sam asks.

"My mother is probably telling embarrassing stories. Like the time you and I got drunk and ended up sleeping it off in the flower bed." This situation demands beer. I need to be drunk by dinner, I can tell.

Toby accepts the bottle I hand him. "Leo's coming, too?"

I take a drink. "Yeah. He got this look on his face though, when I told him Mom wanted him to come."

"What look?" Sam steals my beer.

"That look you say I get when I talk about Donna."

"Leo gets that look about Mom?" Sam's eyebrows are up around his hairline.

Leo arrives at the appointed hour of one o'clock. Presented with the choice of staying in the living room with my mother and her cronies or hiding in the kitchen with the football game, Leo joins us.

"Forgot to turn the oven on, Josh?" 

I take the can of cranberry crap. "If I let you carve the damn thing, will you drop it?"

***

By the time I kick Margaret out the door with her uneaten bowl of pink fluff, it's eight o'clock. The leftovers are put away, the dishes are put away and my mother is passed out on the sofa in front of the TV. Donna is in the bedroom changing clothes when I slip up behind her.

"I made something just for you," I whisper, wrapping my arms around her waist.

"What?" Curiosity overwhelms her.

"Chocolate mousse."

"Josh, I swear, I can't eat another thing."

"You're not going to eat it," I tell her.

"I'm not?" She turns around in my arms.

"Nope."

"What am I going to do with it?"

"It's going to be a Chocolate-Donna Mousse," I smirk at her.

"Oh it is, is it?" Donna looks over my shoulder at the small bowls I set on the nightstand. "This could be fun. Is there enough for a Chocolate-Joshua Mousse?"

"There might be." I take her earlobe into my mouth, sucking gently.

"I'd hate to deprive you of dessert." she teases, pulling out of my grasp. 

***

Collapsing on top of her, I happen to glance up at the wide-open bedroom door. The faint sound of the TV being turned off reaches my ears.

Donna notices the look of horror on my face and tilts her head back to see what I'm staring at just as my mother steps into the room far enough to close the door.


	14. Picture Pages, Picture Pages

*beep*

You've reached Josh and Donna. Leave a message after the tone.

*beep*

"Donna, it's your mom. I got the stuff in the mail today. I adore this picture. It's fabulous. I'll get it to the paper this week. By the way, are you sure you want to drive up here next week? It seems like an awful long way. Your dad is more than willing to pick you up at the airport and drive you to the house. It's not like it that's far" *BEEEPPPP*

"I didn't think she was ever going to shut up," Josh mumbles into my hair, his voice thick with sleep.

"She didn't, the answering machine cut her off." 

It's nine o'clock on Sunday morning and we don't have to go to work today. Translate that into we haven't gotten out of bed yet. In fact, the phone woke us up.

"Same difference." 

We're spooned together under the comforter, Josh's arms wrapped around my waist, his face buried in my neck.

"This is nice," I sigh, pressing myself closer to him. His arms tighten possessively.

"Which picture did you send her?"

"I'll show it to you later. Did you even look at the proofs?"

"I glanced at them. There was only one that I liked." Josh presses a kiss to my shoulder.

"Make me breakfast?" The bout of nausea I was fighting around Thanksgiving hasn't resurfaced, but I'm constantly hungry now. And I still haven't gotten my period. I called my doctor on Thursday. She couldn't get me in until this upcoming Thursday.

Josh responds to my request for food by disappearing beneath the comforter. 

"What are you doing?" I ask with a laugh.

"Making you breakfast," is his muffled reply. 

***

*beep*

You've reached Josh and Donna. Leave a message after the tone.

*beep*

"Joshua, it's your mother. I know damn well you're at home. Get up and answer the phone."

Joshua is still asleep, so I reach over and answer the phone.

"Morning, Elisa."

"Good morning, Donna. How are you feeling?" She suspects the same thing I do. We went shopping on the day after Thanksgiving and I talked to her about it. 

"Pretty good. I'm always hungry lately, though." 

Josh stirs at bit at the sound of my voice. 

"Where is Joshua?"

"He's still asleep. What's up?" I decide I shouldn't have answered the phone. My hormones are in overdrive.

"It can wait. Have him call me tonight." Elisa accidentally walked in on us three times over the Thanksgiving weekend. She's developed a pretty accurate sense of when she's intruding.

Turning the phone off, I toss it towards the edge of the bed. The rhythm of Josh's breathing tells me he hasn't woken up. Very carefully, I begin to rock my hips against his. 

"Donna." Josh mumbles my name in his sleep, unconsciously matching my movements.

***

I'm having this fabulous dream. Donna is having her way with me. I again have no control and that excites me beyond belief. Tightening my dream arms around my dream Donna, I roll onto my back.

***

We lay together until we both regain our breath. Then Josh slides out from under me. Rolling onto his side, he props himself up on his elbow and gazes down at me, his brown eyes filled with tears.

"What's wrong, Joshua?" I reach up and cup his cheek in my hand.

"I love you so much. Do I tell you often enough how much I love you?" The raw emotion he puts out before me is of almost overwhelming intensity.

"You don't have to tell me, you show me. Every day, you show me, Joshua." My own voice cracks and I pull him to me.

***

We lie together for a while longer, listening to one another breath. It's a welcome change from the past couple of weeks. Our sex of late has been more physical than emotional. I don't know how to describe the difference. Donna desires me and I desire her, but the connection we share during our intimacy hasn't been as strong as it was around Thanksgiving. I miss that. I miss seeing my love for her mirrored in her eyes when we come together. We've been adventurous and exploring, but something has been absent.

"Your mother called." Donna breaks the silence.

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"No, she was sort of interrupting something."

"You doing me in my sleep?" I tease her, the overwhelming surge of emotion from earlier has dissipated, leaving behind the simple, comfortable feeling of love I need as though it were oxygen.

"Don't knock it, lover-boy. Why don't you get up and make me breakfast?" 

"I already had you for breakfast." Josh runs his hand in circles on my stomach.

"Get up, horn dog." I tell him while crawling out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

"Me?" I can hear the fake indignation in his voice.

"You!" I call back at him.

"Who took advantage of who this morning?"

***

A superficial inspection of the fridge turns up eggs, eight different vegetables, cheese and bread. Scrambled egg gunk and toast it is.

***

I am unable to identify the smell coming from the kitchen when I get done in the shower. At least Joshua got out of bed. I thought that was going to be a thing today. 

I need to go Christmas shopping for my family. We're leaving on Saturday for Wisconsin and I'm going to have to ship everything. This is the last day I've got.

Slipping on a t-shirt and boxers, a new plaid flannel pair his mom got him for Hanukkah, I sneak into the kitchen. The stereo is on and Josh is singing along to some opera-sounding thing that fits his voice beautifully.

I've never heard him really sing before. He has an amazing baritone. I stop in the doorway to listen. Feeling my eyes on him, Josh suddenly turns around.

"How long have you been there?" He is blushing, like I caught him at something he shouldn't be doing.

"Just a couple of minutes. You have an incredible voice. How come you don't sing more often?" I walk over to him and lean my head on his shoulder, watching him cook.

Wrapping his arm around me, he shrugs. "Joanie taught me to sing. I knew all the words to Ave Marie before I was three. I took voice lessons for a while, but it didn't ever feel right to sing without her. I quit when I started high school."

I hand him a dish to dump the scrambled egg gunk in. "What are we listening to?"

***

"It's Beethoven's Fidelio performed by the New York City Opera. Mom gave it to me."

"Do you understand it?" Donna sets the dish on the table while I drop the bread in the toaster.

"I know the words." I grin over at her.

"And yet you mocked Sam for the Gilbert and Sullivan thing."

"Donna, it was Gilbert and Sullivan. Come on, it deserved to be mocked."

We sit next to each other with our knees touching under the table. I realize I haven't felt like singing in years. A year with Donna as an intimate part of my life and I feel whole for the first time inforever. Whole enough that I can listen to Beethoven and not flip out, a feat that would have been impossible eighteen months ago.

She picks an envelope up off the table and hands it to me. "The one on top is the one I sent to my parents for the announcement thing."

I pull the stack of proofs out. It is a really good picture of us just being goofy. It wasn't even one of the poses Rachel wanted. It was a candid she snapped. I flip through the rest of them. 

"I like that one." Donna points to my least favorite picture.

"The one where I'm looking at you like a love-sick puppy?"

"Yep." 

Her eyes are sparkling at me. 

"What do you want?" I ask warily.

"We need to go Christmas shopping."

"Christmas?" We just got through Hanukkah.

"We've got to get stuff for my family, Josh. It won't take that long, I promise."

"Okay, okay. Although we could just spend the day making love."

***

"Go. Shower." I order, picking the plates up from the table. He pauses to kiss me on his way to the bathroom. 

"I love you," he tells me when our lips part.


	15. The Gift of the Magi

We're spending Christmas in Wisconsin for a couple of reasons. 

The main one is to finalize some wedding stuff. The minister won't marry us without at least one pre-marital counseling session. We also need to get things finalized with the caterer, the florist, the hotel in Madison, the place we're having the rehearsal dinner and the reception hall.

The second reason is so my extended family can get acquainted with Josh and vice versa. Leo gave us two weeks of vacation in lieu of the $1,000 bet he lost to Josh on Election Day. 

We decided to drive, so we wouldn't have to deal with the hassle of airlines and rental cars. Leaving D.C. at 6 a.m. and driving straight through will land us at my parents house in Madison at about 7 p.m.

Josh has done the bulk of the driving. He turned it over to me once we got through Chicago and promptly fell asleep. Leaving me alone with my thoughts. My thoughts are in need of some attention, so this isn't such a bad thing.

It is an accepted fact of life with Joshua Lyman that unless it's political strategy, he is incapable of executing a plan. Need a plan to demolish Republicans? Josh is your man. Need a plan for anything else? Keep him out of the loop. Fate has it in for him.

Guess what? Family planning is evidently no different.

I went on the pill when I was 15-years-old to help regulate my incredibly out of whack cycle. I would go three months without getting my period and then get it twice in four weeks. 

After discussing our desire to get pregnant relatively quickly after getting married with my doctor, I stopped taking it in October. It was never my intention to get pregnant before Josh and I got married.

Now, I realize the literature says fertility should return within one to three months, but I have heard horror stories from friends, especially my sister, about how it took about six months or so to get pregnant after going off the pill.

Evidently none of those women were actually having sex.

I have decided if you are a relatively young, healthy woman having frequent unprotected sex, the literature is right. I haven't had my period since October 24th.

I found out yesterday that I'm about nine weeks pregnant. The baby is due on July 29th.

I wonder what Josh would think of naming our kid Dakota because my doctor's best guess is we conceived on Election Night.

Since this isn't that far off the plan, my only real dilemma is when to tell Josh. Should I surprise him with it as a Christmas gift? Pull him aside and tell him when we get there? Wait two weeks until we get home? I suppose I could wake him up and tell him right now, but where's the fun in that?

Crossing the border from Illinois to Wisconsin, I have a thought. While Josh was at work on the Friday after Thanksgiving, his mom and I had a heart to heart talk. At the time, I was just starting to think I might be pregnant and she gave me some rather reassuring advice, and promised to not say a word to Josh.

The next week she sent me a worn, but lovingly mended, teddy bear. Elisa explained in a note the bear had been a gift to Joshua from Joanie when he was born and over the years it had come back to her. She was sending it to me with full faith I would know what to do with it. For some reason, when I was packing this week, I threw the bear in my suitcase.

Anyway, I'm leaning towards surprising him with the news as a Christmas gift. One of the many things we agreed upon last year is that we would limit Christmas to one personal gift each. I haven't gotten him anything yet; I haven't found the right thing.

***

My parents still live in the four-bedroom, three-story, 1880s monstrosity of a farmhouse I grew up in along the shore of Lake Mendota. My sister, Pat and her husband, Gerry, are coming down tomorrow afternoon from Fond du Lac with their kids, Kelly and Timothy. 

Christmas morning, we'll have our family Christmas and then we're going out to my grandparents farm on Wednesday afternoon to exchange gifts with the rest of the Moss clan. 

On our way out of Washington, Josh admitted my family terrifies him. I sympathize; my family terrifies me, too.

The light in the kitchen is on when I pull into the driveway. The sound of the car makes the dog start barking, which wakes Josh up from a deep sleep.

"Where are we?" he asks, disoriented.

"Here. Come on, Sleeping Beauty." 

I pop the trunk and we start pulling stuff out of the car.

"Donna?" 

Mom comes out of the house to greet us. She gives me a hug then turns to Josh and hugs him, too. She takes his backpack from him and turns back towards the house to holler at Fred. "Get out here and help your sister."

"Mom, it's okay. We don't have that much stuff," I tell her.

"You're staying for two weeks and this is everything?"

Everything consists of Josh's garment bag, duffel bag and backpack and my garment bag and small suitcase. I shipped the gifts; they'll be here Monday.

"We're experts at travelling light," I say.

"Light? Your garment bag weighs twenty pounds, Donna." Josh complains as he hefts it out of the trunk.

"I got it all in two bags didn't I?"

I stick my tongue out at him when he shakes his head at me.

"Stick that out at me again and I'll keep it."

"Dare you to try."

Fourteen hours in the car makes us both a little punchy.

"You two never stop do you?" Dad laughs from the porch.

***

Despite the long drive, I'm awake at seven on Sunday morning. Josh is already up, so I throw on a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt and head for the kitchen.

Josh and Dad are sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the Sunday paper. Josh looks like he just finished his morning run. At least I hope that's why there are little icicles in his hair.

"That better be the sports page," I tell him, pouring myself a glass of orange juice. I'm supposed to cut as much caffeine out of my diet as possible.

"Donna, it's the Madison Capital Times, not the Washington Post," he protests.

"Leo said no work. I know you. You're reading the editorial page and getting annoyed. The next thing I know, you'll be calling CJ and getting her all riled up." I lean against the counter and glare at him until he quietly folds the op/ed page back up.

"Say I was right."

"You're right. Cal Thomas is still a jackass, though," he grumps, patting his lap for me to sit down.

I can feel my dad smiling at us through the agribusiness section. "You joining us for church this morning?"

"I am," I answer. "I need to set up a time to meet with this new pastor."

"Josh? You coming with us?"

"I guess I can. What time?"

"Early service starts at 8. Why don't you kids go ahead and clean up first. Your mom will be down soon."

***

When I get out of the shower, Josh is dressed, sitting on the bed trying to do his tie without a mirror.

"Here, let me." I nudge his legs apart so I can fix the maroon tie.

He's wearing his gray suit, with a white shirt.

"You look nice."

"Donna? Freddy, Dad and I are going to go ahead and go," Mom yells up the stairs. We're taking two cars so they don't have to hang around and wait for us after church.

"Okay. We're right behind you."

***

The pastor at St. John's is new since the last time I was home. Mom said she talked to him and he is expecting us. Josh and I hang back while everyone files out, shaking hands with him.

"You must be Donna Moss." He smiles at us warmly once the church is empty. "I'm Paul Johnson. Your mother said you'd be in this week."

"Pastor Johnson, this is my fiancé, Josh Lyman. We'd like to set up an appointment to talk to you."

He shakes Josh's hand and motions for us to follow him back to his office.

"How long are you around?" he inquires, flipping open his appointment book.

"Two weeks."

"How about Friday? Then I don't have to go shopping with my wife."

I look at Josh, who nods his agreement. "Sure, what time?"

"10 a.m. sound okay?"

"Sounds fine," I reply.

"I just ask that you come prepared to answer my questions honestly and openly," he tells us as we walk to the door.

"Not a problem," Josh says, offering his hand to the pastor.

***

Pat's family is there by the time we get back to the house.

Following brief introductions, Josh and I head upstairs to change clothes before dinner. And to make out. I close the door. It has a crude lock that probably won't withstand even the half-hearted efforts of my niece or nephew, but it's better than nothing.

Josh is trying to kiss me, take his shirt off and unzip my skirt at the same time. I reach for the spot behind his ear, the one I haven't named yet, and he stops everything.

"That is so not fair," he mutters when I finally stop.

I smirk at him. "Strip. I'll take care of me."

He grins back at me and sheds his clothes in record time.

"I had this dream last night," I tell him, slowly unbuttoning my blouse.

***

As we sit there, I press my forehead to his, my arms encircling his neck, fingers drawing lazy patterns on his back. He has his arms wrapped tightly around my waist.

A knock on the door ruins the moment and sends us scrambling for clothes.

"Just a minute!" I call, quickly pulling on a pair of blue jeans.

Kelly's four-year-old voice filters through the door. "Grandma says dinner's ready in five minutes!"

"Okay, we'll be right down."

Josh can dress faster than he can strip, so while I'm searching for a sweater, he cracks a window to let the faint smell of sex air out. We look each other over and head down to dinner.

We slip into the last two chairs at the dining room table at the same time Mom brings the roast in.

***

After dinner, Mom shoos the boys into the living room to watch football while Pat and I haul dishes into the kitchen.

Mom washes, Pat dries and, because I'm the tallest, I put away. Kelly's telling me all about this boy in preschool she has a crush on.

"Speaking of boys. He is definitely cuter in person than he is on TV and not as big a jackass as you'd think," Pat says, meaning Josh. "Let me see the ring."

I hold my left hand out for her inspection. Her response is pretty much the same as everyone else's.

"Wow. Did he pick this out all by himself?" 

"Surprisingly, yes. He took a friend with him, but I have it on reliable authority that he made the selection all by himself."

Kelly comes over to look. "How come it's not gold?"

"It's platinum."

"What's that?"

"Go ask your dad," Pat tells her.

Once the little girl leaves the kitchen, my sister turns back to me. "So, what took the two of you so long to come downstairs for dinner?"

My response is to blush, causing her and my mother to burst out laughing.

Josh, unfortunately, picks that moment to come in search of a beer. He stops in his tracks at the scene before him.

"So, we should always knock when you two are alone?" Mom directs her question to Josh.

"Donna!" he groans, turning a unique shade of red.

"Can I help it you do that I'm da man' strut-thing after we have sex?" I try to look innocent and misdirect at the same time.

He pulls a beer out and takes a long drink. "I do not."

I reach into the fridge for a bottle of juice before he can close the door. "Do I need to bring up election night?"

"I wasn't the one who left a hickey in plain sight," he reminds me on his way out the door.

***

The next morning I'm up before the sun. Donna is an inviting sight lying next to me. Remembering the little stunt she pulled last weekend and the dream she mentioned last night, I decide that my run can wait this morning.

A small finger poking my back makes me realize my run isn't the only thing that's going to have to wait.

"Unca Joss?" Two-year-old Timmy is incapable of pronouncing Uncle or Josh. He and his sister seem to think I'm the coolest thing since crust-less bread. They are both standing beside our bed in their pajamas.

"What's wrong?"

"We're hungry." Kelly pouts at me. She looks like a little version of Donna when she does that. I am in serious trouble when we have little girls.

Tim is nodding. "And I wanna watch TV" That sounded something like an I wanna waph teefee'.

"Okay. Let's go downstairs and let everyone else sleep." I pry myself from under the covers, glad I left my boxers on last night.

"Thooperman!" Timmy latches onto my leg on our way out of the bedroom. Looking down, I see what he's talking about. I'm wearing Superman boxer shorts. Picking him up, I lead us to the kitchen in search of child-friendly breakfast food.

***

I awaken to an empty bed as the first pinks of the sunrise peek through the window. The faint sound of the Spongebob Squarepants theme song reaches my ears, along with the smell of coffee. Pulling a pair of flannel pajama bottoms out of my suitcase, I grab one of Josh's t-shirts and wander downstairs.

The scene in my parents' living room sends me back upstairs for my camera. Josh is lying on his stomach on the floor in his boxers eating a bowl of cereal. Timmy is sitting on Josh's shoulders eating toast and Kelly is snuggled next to him with cereal of her own. The three of them are enthralled by the cartoons on Nickelodeon.

A soft chuckle alerts me to my mother's presence.

"You're going to have your hands full when you two start having kids." She lifts an eyebrow at me before turning to head towards the kitchen.

I follow her, pouring myself some orange juice. We sit at the table together just enjoying the sunrise.

"What's going on, Donna?" Mom regards me over her coffee cup.

"What?" 

"You live on coffee. You haven't had a cup in the last two days and I'm almost out of orange juice." I'm getting the eyebrows again. "Something you want to tell me? I should be making little booties, maybe?"

How in the

The shock must show on my face because she clarifies it for me. "You got this little smile when I mentioned you and Josh having kids."

"I'm due the end of July," I admit.

"Josh is okay with this?"

"Josh doesn't know yet." I hold up my hand to forestall her argument. "I didn't find out for sure until Friday afternoon. I haven't found the right moment to tell him yet."

"To tell who what?" Dad asks on his way to the coffee machine. Thank God it isn't Josh.

Mom nods at me to tell Dad. He sits down next to her, sipping his coffee. 

"Who made this stuff?" Dad grimaces at the bitter taste.

I laugh. "Josh. You can stand a fork up in it after it sets for an hour or so."

"So, you haven't told who what?"

"I haven't told Josh I'm I'm" 

God, I can't even tell my dad. How am I going to tell Josh?

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Donna." Mom shakes her head at me. "Donna's pregnant, Paul."

"You do plan on telling him, don't you?"

"Of course! I just haven't found the right moment," I snap. Horrified that I just said that to my father in that tone of voice, I run upstairs to my bedroom.

***

Some days, my daughter astounds me. She has no problem telling me she's pregnant, but the minute she has to tell her father, she loses her nerve. It's not like she's 16 and got knocked up by her boyfriend of the moment. Donna and Josh have it, the thing that keeps couples together forever.

I'm honestly surprised Kelly and Tim don't have a cousin already.

After she got snippy with Paul in the kitchen, Donna ran upstairs. Josh is safely occupied with Tim and Kelly and that cartoon he finds so funny, so I go up to check on my daughter.

"Come in," she calls softly when I knock on the bedroom door. Donna is sitting in the middle of the bed. She's crying and clutching an old teddy bear to her chest.

I sit next to her and put my arms around her.

"Damn hormones," she sniffles, scrubbing her eyes.

"Whose is this?" I ask, taking the bear from her. Whoever it belongs to, it has been well loved.

"Josh's mom sent it to me. His sister gave it to him when he was born. Joanie saved her allowance for months to get it for him. Elisa claims the bear was bigger than he was for almost six months." Donna has stopped crying and a wistful smile graces her face.

"You aren't afraid of what he'll say, are you?" That came out more as a statement than a question. I don't worry about these two; I worry about Pat and Gerry.

"No. I just don't know how to tell him."

I contemplate the bear in my hands before giving it back to her. "Maybe for this, you don't need words."

***

Tuesday morning, I decide to join Josh on his run. It's dark when we leave the house at 6 a.m., long before anyone else will be up. It's been a relatively warm winter and for the first time in my memory there isn't six feet snow on Christmas Eve.

"I need to go to shopping today," Josh tells me as we jog up the driveway, finishing up an easy four miles.

"Tradition?"

"Something like that."

"Can I go?"

"What's in the shed?" he asks, avoiding my question by walking towards the wooden building in the backyard.

"Josh!" I whine, but I follow him in, closing the door behind us.

I scream when he turns around and grabs my butt.

"This is just a ploy to escape the prying eyes of my family isn't it?" I ask between kisses.

My father has made it his mission to make sure Josh and I are never left alone, especially since my little announcement yesterday morning. Kelly and Tim are helping by surgically attaching themselves to Josh.

His answer is to slip a hand into my running tights.

"Admit it," he teases me. "You only came with me this morning because you figured you could find a way to get me alone."

I shrug, disentangling myself from him, opening an old wooden crate and digging through it. "What can I say? I'm horny."

Years ago, Pat and I stashed a blanket out here for just this purpose. The only other thing in here during the winter is the riding lawn mower. In the summer, it's just the snowblower.

"Ta-dah!" I wave the blanket at Josh triumphantly.

"Excellent!"

Close association with the kids has given my fiancé an interesting vocabulary. Then again, it has been useful. I caught my mother teaching him how to change a diaper yesterday afternoon. That's knowledge he'll need sooner rather than later.

"There's enough room on the other side of the mower." I say, taking his hand again and guiding him around the big green mower.

"Let's do it on the mower."

"You are insane. I am not having sex with you on my father's John Deere riding mower. Besides, it's new! He got it as a close-out special this fall."

"It looks like fun." Josh is inspecting the seat, pushing against the springs. "I want a yard and an 20 horsepower, four wheel drive, John Deere 4100 lawn tractor. Donna this thing is bitching!"

I respond by waving the blanket in his face again before I spread it out and work my way out of my running clothes, leaving my socks on.

"Get down here, I'm cold."

"So this dream you had the other night," Josh pulls his pants off.

***

"Hey, Donna?" he asks after we've both caught our breath.

"What, Josh?"

"Did you know nothing runs like a Deere?" He's reading the sticker on the mower deck.

I groan and shake my head at him. "Let's get back in the house before they wonder what happened to us. If you're a good boy maybe Dad will show his snowblower."

"Cool!"

***

When Donna and I get back to the house everyone else is up. I can smell pancakes, eggs and bacon. 

"Did you have a good run?" Paul asks me. 

"Yeah. It's still pretty dry out, though." I'm trying to be nonchalant about the fact that I was just making love to his daughter in the shed out back.

Deb hands me a plate. "You've got grass in your hair, dear," she whispers, picking at the nape of my neck.

It's official. I'm mortified. It gets worse when Kelly slips into Donna's chair and stares at me. 

"What?" I mumble around my scrambled eggs. She's eyeing the bacon on my plate. I give it to her without comment, because there is no way I'm eating it.

"Daddy said you were a fairy. I'm trying to see your wings."

Donna is leaning against the sink, picking at her plate, talking to Pat. At Kelly's words, the two of them burst out laughing.

"That's it. I'm having Gerry audited next year." I announce.

"Kelly, I wouldn't listen to your father anymore. He's a little confused," Pat says, coming over to pat me on the shoulder. "He's envious of the fact that you and Donna have managed to find a way to actually get some this weekend," she murmurs, picking more grass out of my hair.

"So you aren't a fairy?" Kelly asks, munching on the bacon I gave her.

"No. I am, however, a procrastinator. Does anybody else need to go to the mall?" My question is greeted with variations of no.'

"Is anyone, other than Donna, willing to go to the mall with me?"

"I'll go!" Kelly pipes up.

I glance at Pat, who shrugs her agreement. "Okay, but you can't tell anybody what I get."

***

"Why are we here?"

Here is an old, musty bookstore called Avols in downtown Madison.

"I'm getting Donna a book for Christmas," I explain.

"Aunt Donna wants a book for Christmas?" Disbelief drips from her voice.

"We have an agreement. One thing each for Christmas. It has to be personal."

"One thing?" From disbelief to incredulous in 2.5 seconds. A record even for the Moss family.

"We already celebrated Hanukkah. This is something special. It's not about the gift, it's about showing that we really know each other." I elaborate as I look for the book I know I want. That explanation was probably way over the kid's head.

"Uncle Josh?"

"Yes, Kelly?"

"Why?"

"You'll understand tomorrow."

"Oh." She sounds crestfallen.

"Can we go to the real mall when we're done here?"

I finally find what I've been looking for. "Sure, sweetie."

***

Ice cream and a new outfit for Barbie is the required bribe for a four-year-old to keep her mouth shut and run interference while I gift wrap. When we get back to the house, I find a quiet corner to hide out in and compose the perfect inscription.

Well, it's quiet until Deb sneaks in. I'm just finishing the note when she finds me.

"Feeling anti-social, Josh?" Deb asks.

"Trying to wrap Donna's gift," I reply, realizing I've been sequestered in this corner for well over two hours.

She picks up the book. "The Snow Queen and Other Stories from Hans Andersen?"

I take the book back before she can open it and read my note to Donna. "It's a 1st edition. Original white cloth decorated in black and titled in gilt."

Deb looks at me a little funny. 

"I get her a rare book every year for Christmas. It's a thing," I shrug, wrapping it in a shiny silver paper.

"A book of fairy tales?" Her expression reminds me of my mother at Thanksgiving.

I smile, tying twine around it for a ribbon. "She'll understand."

"Donna says you cook." Deb can change the subject as fast as her daughter.

"You need some help?" I stand up and yell for Kelly to come take the gift to the tree.

"I could use some." She tucks her arm around my waist. "That way you and I can fight out who is going to pay for this wedding and not involve Paul."

"Deal."

***

We attend the midnight church service as a family. I get sandwiched between Kelly and Tim. I have never been to a midnight Christmas Eve candlelight service before; it is one of the most beautiful things I've experienced in a long, long time.

Kelly falls asleep midway through and I find myself carrying the four-year-old to the car when the service is over. Pat starts to head over to get the little girl, but I wave her off. Handing Donna the keys, I ease into the passenger seat of the Audi with the Kelly still in my arms.

"You're doing pretty well with the kids," Donna observes on the way home.

It's hard to shrug when there's a munchkin on your shoulder. I can't seem to say anything around the lump that formed in my throat when a sudden image of what our kids will look like passes in front of my eyes.

Snuggling into bed with Donna when we get home, I take notice of things I doubt even she has: her slightly larger breasts, the beginnings of roundness to her hips, a barely-there thickening to her belly. She thinks I don't notice, but I do.

***

The screaming voices of two small children wake us the next morning and we dutifully troop downstairs. Josh is wearing a pair of Hanukkah boxers decorated with little menorahs that Sam got him for a gag gift and an old campaign t-shirt.

I'm wearing my favorite Spongebob Squarepants boxers and his Yale Law School t-shirt. We present quite a sight to everyone else as we take empty places in the living room around the Christmas tree.

Fred is stuck coordinating gift distribution this year. He gives them to Kelly and Tim and then points to who gets them. That process alone takes thirty minutes. Once gifts are passed out, the kids are allowed to rip into their presents until they are done. The center of the living room quickly becomes a wasteland of toys, wrapping paper and discarded boxes.

Once the kids are finished, the adults take turns. 

Mom goes first, opening the large squishy package from Josh and I. We tried to pick up some cheesy t-shirt at every campaign stop. After the election, I gave them to Margaret who turned them into a huge quilt. 

Josh and I saved our gifts to each other for the end, and somehow in the gift-opening rotation we ended up going last. I give him a nod indicating he should go first. We have everyone's attention as Josh carefully unwraps the lumpy package to reveal his old teddy bear.

Oblivious to everyone else, he smiles up at me from his place at my feet and nods for me to open my gift.

***

I don't know where she got Bear. I honestly haven't seen him in years. I do know what she's telling me, though. Which is good, because I'm running the risk of looking really stupid here when she opens her gift.

***

Taking my turn, the silver wrapping paper falls away to reveal a book, which I expected. The tears I had been holding back threaten again when I see it is a book of fairy tales. Opening the cover, to read the inscription I know is there, my tears spill over as I read what he wrote.

__

Donnatella:

I know I fail at every turn to tell you how much I love you. I fail because I cannot find words to express the emotion that fills my heart and soul. I searched long and hard and the only word I can find to describe the feeling of creating a child with you is joy. I hope that one word is enough to convey my love and devotion to us. Joshua.


	16. Zoot Suit Riot

"Welcome back." Sam lengthens his stride to catch up with me.

"Thanks." 

I'm exhausted. We got home from Wisconsin at 3 a.m. In a new record, Donna had to pee every two hours. 

She blamed me. 

I refrained from mentioning she had been a willing participant and, if in fact her doctor is correct, the instigator of the incident that led to this situation.

I unpacked and came straight to work in an attempt to find my desk under almost three weeks of paperwork.

"Toby and I took care of your stuff while you were gone. I took the DNC meeting Monday."

We round the corner to Leo's office where Margaret stops me to ask about Donna.

"She'll be in around 10. We figured one of us should get some sleep. Thanks for the flowers and the card." I tell her, hoping I'm just reading her wrong and she doesn't really want to give me a hug.

"Get in here!" Leo thunders from his desk, saving me from finding out.

The staff meeting is uneventful, last minute inaugural details and the like. The world is quiet for once.

"Who took the DNC meeting yesterday?" Leo asks benignly as we're wrapping up.

"It was supposed to be me," I volunteer warily.

"Oddly enough, I don't think I can blame this one on you. Toby?"

"Sam." Toby nods in his deputy's direction.

"A 20s costume dance, Seaborn? Are you insane?"

"Sam!" I start to take a chunk out of him, but CJ beats me to it by smacking him upside the head.

"Do you know the likelihood of me finding a flapper dress that will fit?"

"Wilbon said you agreed to a 20s theme, Josh." Sam tries to defend himself.

"I agreed to a 20s jazz band. Not a costume party." I think I just screeched.

"We're locked into this thing, guys. Way to go." Leo sighs at us all.

"Which night is this again?" Toby asks.

"The 17th. A week from Friday." I groan.

"Okay, all of you go work. Josh, stay a minute."

Just like old times, I get held after class. 

Once everyone is gone, Leo comes around the desk and sits next to me.

"How is everything?"

"Pretty decent, actually. Donna's mom is an accountant and they've got a good lawyer. I'm not worried." I deliberately sidestep his real question. He needed to ask and I needed to not answer.

"If you two need anything" Leo puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

I appreciate his gesture, but he and I are not good at this. It's time to change the subject.

"A costume party, h'uh? What exactly was hip in the 20s, Leo?" I grin at him.

"Go find your desk."

***

Josh is buried in paperwork when I get in. My own desk is a federal disaster area, but I'm having a hard time getting motivated to do anything. We're only back one day late, but it feels like an eternity.

Checking schedules, I see that Josh has no meetings the rest of the week. If we buckle down and work fourteen-hour days, we can be back on track by Monday.

If the thought were anymore unappealing, I'd vomit. 

Of course, almost everything makes me want to puke right now.

Hands running up my arms startle me out of my funk.

"You all right?" Josh asks softly.

"I'm just trying to figure out how we're going to get out of this hole." I gesture at my over-flowing desk. 

"By shopping?"

I whirl around in my chair and look up at him is disbelief. "Shopping? You want to go shopping?"

Joshua Lyman wants to go shopping?

Hell has frozen over.

"No, but Sam agreed to a 20s dress theme for the staff ball next Friday." He doesn't seem very enthusiastic about this.

"Okay. I'll find some places. Is anyone going with us?"

"CJ and Toby probably. Sam's on his own."

***

After four 16-hour days, Donna and I finally get caught up. I'm a little worried about her working so much, but when I brought it up I was informed she was the best judge of her own body. And she wasn't nice about it.

We meet CJ and Toby on Saturday for breakfast before setting off to find something for the Costume Party from Hell and something for Donna to wear to the official' Inaugural Ball on the 20th. 

The latter is easy. An hour at Barney's and she finds a full-length, royal blue silk gown. CJ described it as off-the-shoulders cut with a narrow waist.' All I know is the slit goes all the way to Donna's hip and it makes her look like a goddess. Add some matching gloves and we're off on what CJ is calling "Flapper-Quest 2003."

It ends up taking all day. Donna has to go to the bathroom 8 times. I know because I counted. We have an appointment with the obstetrician on Monday and I'm making a list of questions. Currently at the top of the list: is all this peeing normal? Closely followed by: will her constant desire for sex continue?

Anyway, Toby and I are about one store away from finding a sports bar and a basketball game and we still have nothing to wear on Friday.

"I say we just go with the monkey suits." Toby is staring at himself in a three-piece suit with wide legged pants. He's convinced himself that white-tie tuxedos were in back in the 1920s. 

I shouldn't talk. Everything I know about 20s fashion, I learned from watching Kevin Costner and Sean Connery in The Untouchables.'

"Too bad Sam didn't go with a 40s theme." CJ comes out of the dressing room wearing a pale lavender thing that makes Toby forget all about what he's got on.

"Zoot suits, CJ? Thanks, but no thanks. I'd rather look like a gangster."

"I think you look cute. Kinda of an Eliot Ness look. Especially with that fedora." Donna says from behind me.

I fidget with the sleeves on the jacket as I turn around to face her. "Donna, I look like a dork!"

Wow. 

She puts CJ to shame. It's a 1920s flapper version of the little black dress. The fabric is sort of see through all the way from the top to somewhere past her navel. It fits loose, the waistline falls around her hips and the dress continues to her knees where it ends in a fringed hem. Her hair is up, tucked under a wide, black scarf she wrapped around her head. 

"Pick your jaw off the floor, Josh." Toby orders.

In the end, Toby and I go with the gangster look: black pinstripe, three-piece suits with fake 

pocket watches and black fedoras. Donna keeps trying to convince me I don't look like a dork.

***

Having been good boys all day, Josh and I are released from captivity to go do something manly. CJ and Donna insist they need to accessorize' their outfits and we men would simply slow them down.

Whatever. 

We are sitting in a deserted bar in Georgetown that caters to Knicks fans. Which is why Josh and I are the only two people here. The Knicks are getting their asses kicked by Sacramento.

"I need a favor." Josh says out of the blue.

I lower my gaze from the TV to his suddenly serious face.

"Who did you piss off now?"

"Nobody. I need your help."

Those simple words make me reconsider him. Josh Lyman does not ask for help. Period. Help typically has to be shoved down his throat with an Executive Order.

"With what?"

"I need to," he pauses for a moment, sipping his beer. "I need to write a marriage covenant."

***

Toby just choked on his scotch. 

"You want to write a what? Josh, you'd do better to order one off the internet. When was the last time you set foot inside a temple?"

"Will you help me or not?" If he's not going to I need to find someone else, like a rabbi.

"Why?"

"Which part? Why or why you?"

"Both."

"I want to put my feelings on paper and give it to Donna as part of her wedding gift. I want her to know how much I love her, how much she means to me."

***

Josh and Donna are soul mates. I've known that for years, but I have frequently wondered if Josh truly realizes all she is to him. 

This is the first time he and I have ever really talked about their relationship and I must admit I don't wonder anymore.

"I'm asking you because I trust you," he continues.

I find myself nodding before I realize it.

***

"You know what Victoria's secret is?" I ask Donna.

We're standing in the middle of the trashy lingerie section looking at thongs.

"No real woman can wear this stuff?" Donna replies.

She's looking at a black lace teddy. It would look great under the dress she's wearing Friday night. God knows something's going to have to go under it or Josh will have a fit.

"Exactly."

I look at her a little funny when she puts it back. "Why don't you get it?"

"It's $75, I'll wear it once."

"I think Josh would appreciate a repeat performance."

She gets a funny little smile on her face, but doesn't say anything.

"As your maid of honor, I am required to throw you a bridal shower, you know. Maybe we can make it one of those sex toy ones." It was Carol's idea. She figures they don't need any traditional wedding gifts like bed linens or towels or dishes.

"God, CJ, the last thing we need is a collection of toys. Hold off on the bridal shower and throw us a baby shower instead."

I dig through half a rack before what she just said sinks in.

"Donna?" I call. She's wandered over to look at silk nightgowns.

"What?"

"Are you?"

"What?"

"You know."

***

"Pregnant?" I say the word for her.

"Yeah."

I've never seen CJ speechless before. This is not at all the reaction I was expecting from her at all.

"Yes, Josh and I have gone forth and multiplied." I think I spent too much time at church over Christmas. That thought sends me back to the trashy lingerie section.

***

Little Josh Lymans running around? Talk about frightening thoughts. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll be like Donna, who has gone back and picked up the teddy.

"I can always wear it after the baby is born," she explains.

***

I decide I can also model it tonight. I beat Josh home and decide to wait for him in bed.

Wearing the teddy and high heels.

"Donna?" He calls from the living room.

I resist the urge to answer, figuring he'll come into the bedroom to change clothes.

"Wow."

He's saying that a lot today.

"Like it?" I purr.

***

Donna just purred at me. She's lying on our bed in a black lace teddy purring at me.

There is only one thing to do. 

I get out of my clothes as fast as humanly possible and join her.

***

"I have an appointment with Dr. Williams on Monday at 9:30," Donna says suddenly.

After dinner and a couple hours of TV, we're back in bed. She's cuddled up to my side, her head resting on my chest, lightly tracing my scars with her fingers

"Can I go?" The whole pregnancy process fascinates me. If I didn't think she'd kill me, I'd ask Donna for index cards.

"Do you want to?"

"Of course I do."

***

"Josh brought a list of questions." I announce, plopping down in CJ's office.

She looks up from her laptop. "He did what?"

"We had an appointment with my OB this morning. He brought a list of questions. At the top of the list was: is it normal for Donna to have to pee every two hours' and he followed up with questions about sex and fetal development. Two pages, single spaced." 

I'm not sure what I'm feeling right now. Josh is freaking me out. I don't know how I expected him to act, but this isn't it. He shouldn't be this interested.

CJ is just staring at me, the side of her mouth twitching.

"Go ahead and laugh." I wave a hand at her.

"It's just so" She's laughing so hard, she's crying.

"Wrong?" I supply.

"What's wrong?" Sam asks, wandering into CJ's office.

"Have you seen Josh lately?" CJ finally calms down enough to complete a sentence.

"No, why?"

"Go find him. Ask him what he learned today," she instructs.

We had our first ultrasound today, too; not that you could tell what anything was. They gave us a little printout and Josh hasn't stopped staring at it since we left the doctor's office. I drove us back to the West Wing.

I'm serious. He's freaking me out.

***

"What's up?" Sam asks, sticking his head in my office.

"What?" I look up, startled. I haven't been able to stop looking at this ultrasound picture. Not that I can see anything, but it's still my kid.

"What are you looking at?"

I hesitate just a second before I hand him the picture.

"What is this?" 

I walk around my desk and stand next to him.

"For starters, you've got it upside down." I turn it around.

"Not helping any, buddy."

"That is my kid's first baby picture."

"It's what?" You can probably hear Sam screeching in the East Wing.

"What is going on in here?" Leo demands. He and the President are standing in my doorway. They must be on one of Bartlet's hallway tours.

Sam silently hands the photo to Leo.

"Congratulations." Leo cracks a small smile, immediately identifying the picture for what it is and then handing it to President Bartlet.

"When?"

"July 29th," I tell them.

The President's eyes twinkle as he does some quick math. "That would have been early November, then?"

"Election night." I confirm with a grin. 

Donna's urinary issues are definitely not all my fault. She can blame Leo and the President.

***

Friday didn't roll around fast enough.

Most of the staff is working a half-day today and then heading out to get ready for the Ball. It starts at 7:30, but Josh and I plan to be fashionably late. 

We couldn't get dinner reservations before 7:00.

I cannot tell you how happy I am to get out of this building. News of the baby spread through the White House faster than Josh's secret plan to fight inflation. People I don't even know have been offering all kinds of crazy advice.

I blame Josh. He showed the ultrasound to President Bartlet. The President is the biggest gossip in the country.

Not that I won't have to deal with all of these people at the Ball, but at least I can duck them by making Josh dance with me all night.

We're going to Fracheli's for dinner. Vinnie was the only person in town who could seat us before 10 o'clock.

***

I opt for wearing one of my black silk camisoles under the dress instead of the teddy. Not that I had a lot of choice. When I put it on this afternoon, Josh accidentally tore it getting it back off.

He made it up to me in the shower.

Heels and pearls complete the look and when I saunter out of the bedroom, Josh's jaw drops open.

Again.

***

Oh. My. God.

It takes me a minute to pull myself together enough to stutter, "Are you ready?"

"Let's go," she says, appropriating my wool coat.

We get to the Watergate around 9, having taken our time with dinner. The party is in full swing, literally. The jazz band is damn good.

"I'm going to go find Sam," I tell Donna as we make our way through the crowd. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Okay, no and I'm going to look for the rest of the assistants."

There are a wide variety of outfits on display, but when I find Sam and Toby at the bar, I decide Sam takes the cake. The man is wearing cream-colored knickers.

"We playing 18 holes later?" I ask after I order a martini.

"Shut up."

"No, seriously. Who dressed you?" I can't look at Toby or I'll bust out laughing.

"Rachelle."

"Who is Rachelle?" I tread carefully. Sam hasn't had a date since before Thanksgiving when Alex dumped him.

"She's this woman I met at the gym."

Toby points across the room to a well-stacked, leggy blonde who is mingling with the Senior Assistants Association.

"Dude, it's Twiggy!" I might have said that a little loud.

***

I didn't hear exactly what Josh just yelled, but I can tell by his tone of voice that it wasn't good. This Rachelle person Sam brought is sickeningly sweet. It has to be an act. Bonnie and Ginger keep glaring at her, giving me the impression something happened before I arrived. It makes the whole situation uncomfortable.

Seizing the opportunity granted to me by my overly obnoxious fiancé, I slip away.

"I'm going to go see what Josh is carrying on about." I give Rachelle a fake smile and pretty much bolt over to the bar.

CJ intercepts me on my way over, glaring towards Rachelle. "This is the last straw."

"Sam's date?"

"You know the word we don't use?"

I nod. I may have reclaimed it, but I still don't say it in public.

"Look it up in the dictionary and there she is."

"Okay. Josh likes to meddle in people's love lives. I'll put him and Toby on it." Maybe this will keep him from driving me crazy with inane pregnancy questions.

"She's really a very nice woman."

Sam is evidently explaining his dating choices to Josh and Toby, the newly ordained West Wing Yenta Society. If it kills them, they will find Sam a suitable girlfriend. 

They just don't know it yet.

***

"If looks could kill, they'd have to arrest Bonnie and Ginger. I didn't even know it was possible to piss Ginger off." Toby is chastising Sam for his date selection. I'm simply observing, I've already had my turn.

Donna pinches my butt as she sidles up next to me. 

"Dance with me," she whispers in my ear.

"I'm watching Toby. It's an educational experience." I whisper back, not wanting to miss anything.

"We need to talk."

She takes my hand and drags me out onto the dance floor. The band is playing something slow, so we just wrap our arms around one another and sway to the music.

***

"You need to find Sam a girlfriend." I state bluntly.

"Why me?"

"You love in meddling with people's sex lives. Besides, CJ and I are telling you to," I inform him as the band switches songs and picks up the tempo.

My experience dancing with Josh has previously been limited to staid, formal waltzes at State Dinners and the odd slow dance. I had hopes; he has shown some talent with the waltz. However, I am not impressed with his ability to swing dance. He doesn't completely suck, but pretty close.

"You need lessons, gangster boy," I tell him on our way back to the bar.

"I haven't had dancing lessons since I was twelve," he laughs. "Once I learned how to waltz and foxtrot my dad decided that was enough."

"I always got stuck with the ugly, fat girl." Toby volunteers. CJ has yet to entice him onto the floor.

"The one with two left feet and slimy hands?" Josh smirks. "She had a cousin in Connecticut."

"That's the one. Except my father made me finish, thus I know how to swing dance."

I'm shocked when Toby offers me his hand and leads me out on the dance floor.

"You'll be the center of attention at the thing on Monday night," Toby says before he twirls me. "I just want this one dance to tell you how much you deserve this happiness."

"Don't worry, Toby. I'll save a dance for you Monday night."


	17. Belle of the Ball

"I look fat."

Donna has been standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom for almost an hour getting ready. She has declared herself fat twelve times.

She's gained like five pounds.

Maybe.

"You do not look fat," I call from the closet where I'm searching for my suspenders.

"I swear, Joshua, if you tell me I glow, I will kick your ass."

There goes that line.

"No, absolutely not. You do not glow, Donnatella. There is no glow anywhere in your vicinity."

***

"Jackass!" I'm pregnant; I can be as unreasonable as I want to be. I'll admit it. I'm milking this. I consider it a combination of training for later and payback for all the whining he's done over the years.

I do look fat. My hips have done some sort of weird spreading and rounding thing in the week since I bought this dress. I don't find it very flattering.

"I look fat!"

"You do not." Josh replies again, appearing in the mirror.

Placing his hands on my hips, he stands behind me and squares me to the mirror.

"You look like a goddess."

He is getting very good at attempting to placate me.

"I do not. I look like I've spent a month on the couch with bottomless pint of Ben & Jerry's."

"Donna, please stop this. You are beautiful. You are not fat."

"I'm not leaving the apartment."

***

I have no idea how I finally coaxed her out of the bathroom, but it took all my powers of persuasion. We'd have an easier time legalizing marijuana than I did getting Donna to this final Inaugural Ball. 

This is the fourth one of these damn things we've been to this weekend. First was the staff one on Friday, followed by some sort of New Hampshire syrup thing and the DNC fundraiser appreciation party, both on Saturday. We spent all day Sunday at work because we knew nothing would get done today.

The government doesn't completely stop for an Inauguration. We're prepping for the G8 summit in London that starts on Wednesday. It's over three weeks of preliminary meetings before the big weekend sessions begin on February 14th. 

Leo stuck my office with most of the legwork. Which means I spent Sunday sequestered in a meeting room with Jack Norris from the State Department and his advance team.

Now I'm stuck talking to Rachelle, watching Sam dance with Donna. 

We've been here fifteen minutes and I'm not having a good time.

Leo finally comes to my rescue. "Josh, I need to talk to you."

"You saved my life." I tell him as we walk towards a corner.

"You have to go to London on Wednesday."

"What about Jack?"

"Jack had a heart attack an hour ago, he's not going anywhere for a while. Nobody else is up on this." Leo sounds apologetic. It doesn't make me feel any better. A billion things I have to do in the next month run through my brain.

"Shit." Donna's going to have a fit. Unless Donna decides running away to London is a good thing. I could make London a good deal for her.

"And Donna is going to have to stay here and run your office. You can't both be gone."

The sound I just heard was the other shoe dropping.

"Leo." I plead. Whining might work. "This isn't fair. I'm getting married in six weeks and you want me to go to London for almost a month? Can't anybody else go?"

"This isn't a negotiation, Josh. It's your job. The President is sending you to London on Wednesday to run the advance team. That's the end of it." His conciliatory tone has vanished.

Or not.

"Yes, sir. Anything else?" I ask, my own tone hardening.

"No."

"I'm going to tell my assistant she'll have to run my office for the next month. Then I'll be leaving to go pack and get my personal affairs in order."

I stalk back towards the bar. Everyone is on the dance floor: Sam and the dingbat; CJ and Toby; Donna and the President. 

I doubt he's telling her I'm going to London until the 17th of February.

***

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Josh turn his back on Leo and walk back towards the bar. Even from the dance floor I can tell he's upset. What could Leo possible have said to him?

"We need to leave." His voice is a monotone when I approach him after my dance with the President.

"Josh, we just got here. Let's find a place to talk."

He starts to object, but just nods and leads me out of the ballroom. We find a quiet corner of the hotel away from the assembled mass.

"Jack Norris had a heart attack." Josh states without preamble. "Leo and the President are sending me to London to run the advance team."

"There's nobody else who can go?" I ask in disbelief. We've got so much to do in the next six weeks it isn't even funny.

"It is not open for negotiation." The harsh tone of his voice surprises me.

"We'll just have to make the best of our time in London then." I'm trying to put a positive spin on it for him.

"You have to stay here and run the office."

There's the other shoe.

Silence fills the room for a few moments.

"I leave on Wednesday morning. I'm going to my office to get all my notes in order, then I'm going home to pack. I understand if you want to stay."

Josh wants to be alone for a while. I can read it in his eyes.

I undo his bow tie and give him a soft kiss, telling him without words that I understand it isn't his fault. 

"Okay. I'll see you at home. Don't spend too much time in the office."

"I won't," he smiles sadly. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I tell him as we part ways. 

Josh goes to get a cab and I head back to the party.

***

I spot Donna on her way back into the ballroom. 

"Where did Josh go?" I ask, coming up behind her.

"Hey, Sam. He went to the White House. He has some work to get done."

"Is everything okay? You two didn't have a fight did you?"

Her smile doesn't reach her eyes and she looks like she's about to cry. "Everything is fine."

"What's going on, Donna?" I walk us over to an unoccupied table.

"Leo is sending Josh to London on Wednesday for the summit preps."

"And?" I must be missing something. They've dealt with Josh travelling before; he was on the road almost the entire campaign.

"Sam, the wedding?"

I'm still missing something. The wedding is March 1st. The summit is over February 17th. 

"He'll be back in time, Donna. They wouldn't send him if he wouldn't be."

"What's going on?" Bonnie appears out of nowhere. 

"Avoiding the ding-bat?" Donna asks, changing the subject.

"That woman has to go." She looks straight at me. I don't get this either. I mean, Rachelle isn't the brightest woman I've ever dated, but I like her.

"I've got to go pee." Donna announces suddenly, taking off for the ladies' room.

The rest of the Senior Assistants Association makes its way over after her departure. How they know when one of them is upset is beyond me. 

I fear them, so I spill what Donna told me.

"You have got to be kidding!" It's been a while since I've seen Carol this pissed.

"What am I missing here?" I still don't get it.

"Let us count the things, shall we," Carol begins.

I get it from all angles

"The last minute details for the wedding."

"Of which there are about a thousand."

"She needs to get her dress altered again, because she's pregnant."

"The announcements have to be addressed."

"Josh put himself in charge of the honeymoon."

"Valentine's Day."

"The surprise party."

Oh shit. I forgot about that. Josh turned 40 last year and we all ignored it with the intention of getting him this year, when he wouldn't be expecting it.

His birthday is next Friday.

The party was supposed to be next Friday.

***

"What happened to Josh?" Toby asks, sitting down next to me at the table.

It's been a revolving chair for the last hour. The only people who haven't come to find out what's going on are Leo and the President. When Toby said I'd be the center of attention tonight, I doubt this is what he had in mind.

"He went home to pack," I reply.

"He can't pack tomorrow?"

"Toby, he's pissed, okay? He wanted to be alone for a while."

He wanted to brood, which is really all I've been doing as well. But somewhere between Bonnie and Zoey I think I finally figured out why this is bothering him so much.

"Do you have a ride home?"

"We came in a cab. I think I'm going to go." 

"I'll walk you out," Toby offers.

***

Josh is sitting on the sofa in the dark when I get home. He's still wearing his tux.

"Josh?" I close the door.

"Hey." 

"You okay?" I walk over and sit down next to him.

"Yeah No I don't know. I just... I don't want to leave you right now. There's too much stuff to finish before the wedding and I worry about you working too much while I'm gone and I worry about" Josh trails off.

"You worry about the baby." I finish for him.

"Yeah," he admits quietly.

"Well, I'll send the wedding announcements and the list with you. Those will keep you busy and out of trouble. I promise to be out of the office by seven every night and as for the other, you're going to spend the rest of your life doing that. You might as well get used to it."

That earns me a small smile.

"I want to be here for you," he says softly. "I want to share this with you."

I take his hands in mine, running my thumbs over his. "You are."

He shakes his head. "I'm going to miss three weeks. What if something happens?"

"Like my breasts get sore or my back starts to hurt or I'm crabby?"

"Yeah. All of it. Who's going to give you back massages every night?" He leans closer to me, his mouth mere inches from mine. "And how are you going to be satisfied while I'm gone?"

Josh runs his hand up the slit of my dress to emphasis his point.

"Cyber sex?" I offer, hoping to tempt him out of this mood.

"On our White House email accounts?"

"Probably not a good idea." I agree, meeting his gaze, letting him make the next move.

He leans in just a bit more, pressing his lips to mine, slipping his tongue into my mouth. I wrap my arms around him, sliding them under his tuxedo jacket, running my hands all over his back.

***

I quit what I'm doing when Donna's screams become sobs.

"Are you okay?" I ask worriedly, helping her off the coffee table and onto the sofa, cradling her in my arms.

"Cramps," she moans, clutching at her abdomen.

***

"Should I call the doctor?" Josh starts to panic.

"It's okay, it's sort of normal."

Dr. Williams warned me I might experience cramps right after orgasms. This is the first time it has happened. I didn't realize they'd hurt so badly.

That information doesn't placate Joshua, who insists upon carrying me to bed. He tucks me in and then brings me some Advil before going to clean up the mess in the living room.

***

This is exactly why I don't what to go to London for three goddamn weeks.

Donna molds herself to me when I climb into bed after picking up the living room.

"Things are going to change when we have this baby," Donna murmurs.

***

"I know. Diapers, feedings, crying, not sleeping." Josh ticks off all the stuff Dr. Williams told him to expect.

"No more sex on the coffee table," I point out.

***

"Oh, we're still having sex on the coffee table." I reply, finally letting go of my funk.

"What about the bear?" Donna giggles.

"We'll send her out to play in traffic."

***

Josh wants a girl; he's admitted that before. I'm glad, because having girls first runs in both our families.

"Have you thought up any names?" I ask.

"I always figured I'd name my daughter after Joanie, but I'm not so sure anymore." His voice sounds far away.

He's trailing his fingers up and down my back. I find myself drifting off to sleep, lulled by his touch and the steady beat of his heart under my ear.

***

I'm pretty sure Donna fell asleep before I admitted I think Katherine Eileen would be the perfect name for our little girl.

I lay awake for a while longer, making mental notes of the things I need to do tomorrow. Not the least of which is finding the time to call my attorney and my accountant.

Time is running out on me and I need to get the ball rolling on Donna's wedding gift.


	18. Love Letters from London

__

Wednesday, January 22, 2003 — 2 a.m.

Darling Donnatella,

I'm writing this while you are sleeping because I can not. Faced with the prospect of spending three weeks away from you, separated by an ocean, I can not bear to take my eyes from you.

I will have the wedding announcements addressed by the time I return. I will be a good boy and attempt to not offend anyone. I expect you to do the same. Take care of our little bear while I'm away. I know you told me to not worry so much, but I can't help it. You'll just have to accept it as a sign of my love.

I won't be able to call much. I doubt Congress will foot the bill for us to have trans-Atlantic phone sex on my government cell phone. 

I'm going to give this letter-writing thing a try instead. All my love, Joshua.

***

__

Wednesday, January 22, 2003 — 9 a.m.

Donna,

I know you just put me on the plane, but these State Department pukes are driving me insane. They are loaning me an assistant. She's annoying. Sort of reminds me of Rachelle.

Speaking of the dimwit, I am trying to think of a way to talk Sam out of ever seeing her again, much less bringing her to the wedding. Unfortunately, I have been unable to come up with anything original.

Glenda, the wicked witch of the west, is glaring at me. I'd better wrap this letter up for now. I miss you already. 

I'm back.

You know how much I hate long car rides if I'm not driving? I hate long flights if I'm not on Air Force One even more. I know this is a government Gulfstream state of the art flying machine, but still. I've been spoiled by Presidential travel methods. Glenda is evil. For six hours, she drilled me on policy notes I wrote in the first place! Save me! Please?

Are you feeling okay today? You said your back was bothering you a little yesterday. If I were home, I'd give you a massage. Well, I'd start with a massage. Knowing us, I have a feeling we'd end up pissing off the neighbors again. Do you think old Mrs. Jones was serious when she said she was going to call the cops the next time we have sex in the living room? I don't think they can arrest us for that, can they? Well, maybe for what we were doing last night

I'm going to try to sleep a bit, but I'm thinking about you — so there is tremendous potential for embarrassment here. Too bad there isn't a cold shower on this plane.

Don't forget to eat. Love, Joshua.

***

__

Thursday, January 23, 2003 — 8:30 a.m.

My Dearest Donnatella,

I am bored to death. I am sitting in a meeting with pompous jackasses who are in love with the sound of their own voices. Now, before you give me grief, and perhaps tell me I'm in the correct company, allow me to clarify a few things. First, I am not in love with the sound of my own voice — I simply have a lot to say. Secondly, Congress at least drones on in English. Thirdly, is that a word? Thirdly, I look like I am taking notes.

We got into Heathrow sometime after dark. My watch sucks and there was a time change. My best guess is around 9 or 10 o'clock local time. What's that? 5 or 6 DC time? Anyway, after we got in, they took us straight to the embassy for a three-hour security briefing. The local intelligence people think there is a possibility this meeting may be targeted by terrorists for reasons I won't get into in this letter.

After the briefing, we were assigned rooms in the embassy. Evidently, I'm not important enough to get my own room; some guy named Darryl had to make space for me. He's an officer with the Marine guard unit. Pretty nice guy. 

I had all kinds of trouble getting to sleep without you in my arms. I ache to touch you, to smell you, to taste you, to simply hold you.

I'd better stop before I have the same problems I had on the airplane yesterday.

This meeting is to discuss our relative positions on easing the debt load of Third World nations. I won't get into why I think our position on this is wrong, we've discussed it many times. I do at least have a better understanding of why we have the position we do.

Know that I love you and the little bear. Let me know how your appointment with Dr. Williams goes. I miss you. We've only been apart for 36 hours and I can't stand it. I don't know how I survived travelling during the campaign. Can you ask Dr. Williams if this is normal? Love, Joshua.

***

__

Friday, January 24, 2003 — 1 p.m.

Donna:

Do you have any idea what crumpets actually are? Anyway, I'm sending these next-day air so hopefully you'll get them the day after I mail them. It's probably costing me more than phone calls, but there's something about putting my feelings down on paper and making them permanent. It seems to mean more.

There is a reception tomorrow night at some hotel. I hope I don't need to wear a tux — I didn't bring mine. I'm really not looking forward to it, I haven't found anyone here I actually like enough to talk to. Love, Joshua.

***

__

Saturday, January 25, 2003 — 11:30 p.m.

Donnatella!

Yes, I've been drinking. No, I'm not drunk, despite the best efforts of the Lord John Marbury. He says hello, by the way. I hope you don't mind, but I invited him to the wedding. Before you yell at me, let me explain.

He rescued me from the unwanted and determined advances of the very married French economic minister. She's older than my mother and not nearly as beautiful as you are. Am I forgiven?

Darryl has guard duty tonight, so I have the room to myself. I came back from the reception thinking of you. Faced with either taking another cold shower or well, you know. I went with the latter. I thought it might be slightly unhealthy to continue getting aroused thinking about you and then not, well, you know.

I hope you don't mind, but I imagined it was you on the coffee table the whole time. Not that it took long.

I was very frustrated.

I am very frustrated.

I'm going to mail this now, before it gets all sticky. 

Are the gomers in the mailroom reading these? 

How was your appointment this morning? Is everything okay? I should stop worrying, right? All my love, Joshua.

***

__

Friday, January 31, 2003 — 9 p.m.

Donnatella,

I can only be slightly glad I wasn't home to appreciate what your delightfully twisted and devious mind actually had in store for me.

I should have known last year was too quiet.

Thank you very much for the dozen black roses and the huge, plastic tombstone you had delivered to the conference room. Everyone found it very funny.

I hope there would have been a reward for having stoically endured your abuse.

Tell Dr. Williams thank you' for the book she sent me. It's very informative. What exactly are you telling her anyway? She wants to know if I have a brother

Back to my reward. I'd like to go ahead and pre-order it.

You can start with one of those fingertip massages. The ones where you barely touch me? Those are my favorites. I like it when you lead, so after the massage, I was thinking you could do some finger sucking. I'd use my free hand to reciprocate — don't worry.

No, I'm not drunk. Just wishing we were together on my birthday. Spongebob misses Squarepants. Rosie isn't an acceptable alternative.

It has been an incredibly busy week, I'm sorry I haven't written more often. It isn't because I'm not thinking of you. It is because the closer we get to the summit, the more attention I have to give to what I'm supposed to be doing. We've moved past the boring basics and into the actual policy changes we want to make. After the sessions each afternoon, I'm doing the schmooze thing. Dinner and drinks with whomever I feel is most receptive to our positions. I don't know if I'm doing any good. American political maneuvers don't seem extremely effective over here. I'm not drinking too much, I promise, and I'm running every morning with Darryl.

Only 17 more days until I get home and only 28 days until we get married. Love always, Joshua.

***

Tuesday, February 4, 2003 — 1 p.m.

Dear Donna,

I haven't been this out of place since I took auto shop in high school. We're discussing preliminary changes to some international banking laws. This meeting is the reason I have an accountant.

Sorry I haven't written since Friday. I wanted to, but I had a weekend full of security briefings and some meetings to set up this week's agenda. We are debating the benefits of freezing assets belonging to suspected terrorist organizations and governments. Since we're pushing for the changes, I have stuff to contribute and some points to prove. 

I'm doing pretty well. I think the President will be happy with the resolution we'll get out of this.

Tomorrow's sessions are about electronic currency transactions. Way over my head. Fortunately, we get neat little summary sheets after each session.

Hold on a second, I have to point out to this guy that he is a moron.

Okay, I'm back. I'll need you to send an apology note to him later though, please. The Swiss banking rep. I'm not sure what his name is.

I finished addressing the announcements. Are you proud of me? 

Promise me you are taking care of yourself. I know you are, but the book Dr. Williams sent me says I should be politely, yet firmly, attentive to the needs of our developing child and its mother. You simply choose to call it nagging. So take care of yourself or I'll be forced to come up with some Rules. All my love, Joshua.

***

__

Wednesday, February 12, 2003 — 1 a.m.

Donnatella:

I'm hiding in the bathroom because Darryl's trying to sleep. I can't, even though I'm exhausted. The closer we get to the deadline, the more issues pop up. We were in meetings until midnight tonight. 

All I can do right now is think about you and how I want to be home with you.

Which is, of course, why I'm in the bathroom. I've completely given up on cold showers. They weren't working anyway. 

Do you still have a vibrator? Are you using it? If you aren't, can you send it my way?

When I started writing these, I meant them to be sweet and romantic. They've become increasingly trashy, haven't they? It's because I can't touch you or make love to you. Only 5 more days. I love you, Joshua.

***

Thursday, February 13, 2003 — 8 a.m.

"You packed?" CJ asks tossing me a bagel from the staff meeting.

"I'm ready to go, sister. I even managed to reschedule my OB appointment for this afternoon." God, I'm hungry and I ate breakfast a little over an hour ago.

"Why are you going every two weeks, isn't that a little excessive at this point? You're only like 4 months along."

"I go every three weeks and this is Week 17, so I'm almost halfway there. Dr. Williams is a little worried about the amount of weight I'm gaining. Well, not gaining would be a better way to put it. She wants to keep a closer eye on things." I explain, between mouthfuls of the bagel she gave me.

"You eat all the time!"

"Tell me about it." I pat my slightly protruding tummy. "I am apparently not gaining any weight, I'm just redistributing it."

Two Fridays ago, on Josh's birthday, I went from my clothes still fit' to wearing Josh's dress shirts because I had no baggy work clothes. CJ, Margaret and I already had Saturday off for my final dress fitting; we just added power-shopping for maternity clothes to the list of things to do. I've never been so glad I picked a loose, flowing wedding dress. I doubt anyone will even notice the baby when I'm wearing it.

***

"You've managed to gain two pounds since your last visit. Six pounds total," Dr. Williams announces. "I want to do an ultrasound today, to make sure everything's okay."

One of the best things about Dr. Williams is she does the ultrasounds herself. I lie back on the table, watching the little black and white screen. You can make out the baby's head and you can see its tiny heart beating. The doctor checks but can't tell if it's a boy or a girl.

"Everything is normal, the baby is just very small." Dr. Williams asks, helping me sit up when she's finished and handing me a printout for Josh, who is collecting them like baseball cards. "I want to see you again in three weeks."

***

My husband has the sensitivity of a complete and utter jackass. Don't believe me? Take a close look at Donna Moss. She's been miserable since the inauguration. More specifically, she's been miserable since my jackass husband sent her fiancé to another continent.

Nothing is more heart-wrenching than a miserable pregnant woman.

There was absolutely no reason Jed had to send Josh to London; I'd lay odds Jack Norris didn't even have a heart attack. Don't think I didn't give him an earful when Zoey told me about it.

Jed's response? Josh needs the foreign policy experience.

I find his answer amusing on various levels, not the least of which is he hired Josh to do domestic policy. Mixing Josh Lyman and foreign policy seems on par with leaving a toddler unsupervised in a room with the button to launch nuclear weapons and then wondering why Cuba doesn't exist anymore.

At any rate, Jed conceded to bringing Donna along on this trip at my insistence.

I have been conspiring with the British Prime Minister's wife to arrange suitable punishment for both Jed and Leo.

"Did you find it?" I ask CJ when she sits down next to Zoey and me.

"It was still at the cleaners. Donna hadn't had time to pick it up yet," she confirms. "He's been writing her letters."

"Letters? The kind you hand write on paper and send through the mail?" I can't help but laugh. Every time I think I get Josh Lyman nailed down, he comes up with something new.

"You can tell the day after she gets them, she glows."

"What's in these letters?"

"From what she told me, they're pretty mundane. Just how much he misses her and how they stuck him with a roommate at the Embassy. Mostly how much he misses her. They're basically love letters."

"Love letters? Josh is writing love letters?"

"She says he's been nagging her, even threatened to come up with rules." CJ and I share a laugh, remembering the Rules. We find it slightly poetic that Josh is trying to turn the tables.

***

I'm standing at the limo, waiting for the Presidential party to debark Air Force One, when I see a face I know is not supposed to be here. Not that I'm not overjoyed or even ecstatic to see her. In fact, it is all I can do to not go running across the tarmac and sweep her into my arm in some cheesy _Gone With The Wind_ inspired public display of affection.

Even from here she looks tired.

***

I spot Josh instantly when we exit the plane. He's leaning against a limo with his arms crossed. I have the overwhelming urge to run down the stairs and throw myself into his arms like a scene out of _Casablanca_ or something.

Even from here he looks tired.

***

Jed reaches Josh and the limo before Donna is even off the plane. Josh nods quietly at something Jed says and then opens the door for him. He looks up before he gets in, making eye contact with Donna.

You'd have to be blind to not see the look of unhappiness pass between them as they both realize their reunion is going to have to wait.

My husband is a four-star jackass.

***

Dr. Bartlet is shaking her head a something as the Presidential limo speeds away. I'm not sure what I was expecting, the breakfast session starts at 8 a.m. and it's already 7:30. I'm also not sure what I'm doing along on this trip. 

"Come along, Donna," Dr. Bartlet takes me by the arm, guiding me towards another limo. 

Zoey decided she needed a weekend of shopping in London, so she came along on this trip. I personally think she wanted to spend Valentine's Day with Charlie. Oh, yeah. Today is Valentine's Day.

The three of us crawl into the limo and are greeted with a cheery good morning' from an impeccably dressed woman I'm pretty sure is Linda Smyth, the British Prime Minister's wife.

"How does breakfast sound? Then we can swing by Harrods and then do some sight-seeing?" Mrs. Smyth asks as we get settled.

"Sounds like a well thought out plan," Dr. Bartlet comments.

***

I'm dead on my feet by the time the day is over at 6 o'clock. The best part of this almost being done is I got moved out of the Embassy and into the hotel. The worst part is I have an hour to shower and change for the reception this evening.

After spending five minutes struggling with the key card, I finally get the door to my suite open to find Donna curled up on the bed asleep, wearing nothing but a robe.

Dropping my bag, I snuggle around her, pressing kisses to a bare patch of skin on her neck.

"Josh?" Her eyes are still closed, so I'm going to give her that one.

"I missed you," I murmur into her neck.

"You missed my body," she states, opening her eyes.

"I missed everything about you." I clarify between kisses, my exhaustion melting away.

"This suite has a coffee table."

***

Josh's eyes light up when I mention the coffee table. He crawls off the bed, shedding his clothes as he goes. It doesn't a minute before he's dragging me by the hand to the coffee table. I can't help laughing at his exuberance.

"How do we want to do this?" I ask, wrapping my arms around his body, kissing his shoulders.

"You sit," he points at the edge.

I do as he tells me, smiling when he kneels in front of me. His eyes linger on my stomach, tinged with a bit of regret.

"You got poochy," he declares, leaning forward to kiss my belly button.

"Yeah, we need to talk about the Visa bill." I run my hands through his curly hair.

***

"Happy Valentine's Day?" Josh finally says, smirking at me.

"Help me off this thing."

***

I scoop her up and carry her to the sofa. There's nothing more I'd rather do than spend the rest of tonight making love to Donnatella, but if we don't shower and get dressed, we're going to be late for the reception.

***

We shower together, normally a recipe for disaster, but in a great display of willpower, we manage to keep our hands off of each other. Mostly because Josh kept promising me he'd be able to take his time tonight.

I'll believe it when I see it.

***

"Is anyone else worried about that?" I ask, interrupting the British Prime Minister's dissertation on cricket.

That' is the Sisterhood: Donna, Zoey, CJ, Dr. Bartlet and several others, huddled in a corner drinking wine and laughing hysterically.

"What are they up to?" Leo asks, joining us and staring in the same direction we are.

"I am afraid to contemplate what those devious ladies are concocting."

Toby's been drinking scotch all night. The more he drinks, the bigger words he uses.

Mr. Smyth shakes his head at us. "Why do you fear your women so?"

I choke on my soda. "Did you see what mine sent me for my birthday? Imagine what it would have been if I'd been home."

"I saw the plans, it was like a military operation. You wouldn't have made it to lunch." Charlie informs me.

"What? You weren't going to tell me?" I gape at him. I thought we were friends.

"Do I look stupid enough to betray the Sisterhood?"

***

Mrs. Smyth and Dr. Bartlet are filling us in on the plans for tomorrow night. Out of the corner of my eye I see the men looking at us. I can smell the fear.

Josh, Leo, Toby, Sam, Charlie, the President and the British Prime Minister, along with Lord John Marbury — the same look of terror graces each of their faces.

When I point it out, the rest of my cohorts laugh that much harder.

I want to be as subtly vindictive as Abigail Bartlet one day. I'm honored she would take the time and trouble to do this on my behalf.

"You look a little less miserable tonight, Donna." Dr. B observes with a smile.

"Did you know these suites have coffee tables?" I mention casually.


	19. Valentine’s Day II: Revenge of the Coffe...

"Ready to go?"

Josh's voice in my ear startles me.

I turn around to face him, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne. "Can we?"

"The President said we could go whenever." He nods in Bartlet's direction to emphasis his point.

Following his gaze, mine settles on the First Lady standing at her husband's side with a small smile on her face as she looks over at us.

I return hers gratefully before bestowing mine on Joshua. "Then let's get out of here."

Easier said than done. We're on the far side of the room from the doors and every three or four feet someone stops Josh to talk.

"Ah, the lovely Donnatella Moss."

Ah, the obnoxious John Marbury. I'm standing off to the side of a group of bureaucrats who seem to have swallowed Josh whole. I'm also trying not to be irritated, I know he's trying to worm his way out of there.

"Your Lordship." I give him a strained smile. I don't care for the man. He strikes me as slimy, but I can be polite.

"May I offer you a drink?" He holds up a glass of white wine.

"Thank you, but I can't."

"Why on earth not?"

"I'm expecting," I explain the obvious, my eyes still searching for Josh.

He stops and takes a closer look at me, as if he's never seen a pregnant woman before. "Josh told me you two are getting married, he didn't say anything about attempting to repopulate the species."

***

It takes me way too long to free myself from the pack of blowhards intent on rehashing the entire day's meetings. Donna is standing next to John Marbury, looking bored and slightly impatient.

"Sorry," I whisper in her ear, slipping up behind her and resting my hands on her hips.

"Ah, Joshua," Marbury starts in before Donna can say anything. "Your beautiful fiancée was just telling me additional congratulations are in order."

I must look a bit confused, because he keeps rambling. "The baby, young man, the baby! Congratulations!"

"Thank you, sir. If you'll excuse us" I trail off and gesture towards the door, indicating we're heading out.

"Of course. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow night at the play." He kisses Donna's hand, slaps me on the shoulder and staggers off in search of more booze.

"The play?" I ask, guiding Donna out of the reception hall.

She nods, possessively wrapping an arm around my waist while we wait for the elevator. "Prime Minister Smyth's wife and Dr. Bartlet have arranged a thing for tomorrow night."

My groan sounds in concert with the elevator's ding.' I fear the power of the International Sisterhood.

"I swear I haven't done anything!"

***

Josh looks decidedly unhappy as we enter the empty elevator. He pushes the floor button with barely constrained annoyance. I'm tempted to tell him what we're doing tomorrow night while everyone else is being punished, but I decide to just grope him instead.

"Donna!" Josh yelps, but instead of pushing my hand away he covers it with his own.

We stand in the corner of the car just staring into one another's eyes. I can see the brown color of his irises deepen.

Our lips come together almost of their own accord, Josh runs his free hand over my cheek. We guiltily jump apart when the elevator dings again and an elderly couple joins us. I stand with my back to Josh, leaning against him, effectively hiding his arousal. We're gradually getting used to public displays of affection in professional situations, but groping is still a no-no.

***

I'm going to die in this fucking elevator if it doesn't hurry the hell up. Donna is not helping, swaying her hips against me like she is.

If she doesn't stop, I'm going to have a wet spot before we get to the room.

"You're killing me, Donnatella," I breathe into her ear as the car finally stops on our floor. I nod at the Secret Service agents in the hallway; most of whom just smirk back.

I think I hear the phrase booty call' more than once as we walk past.

***

Josh seems a little more in control when we get to our suite. I head for the bathroom, leaving him to stare at the room service cart containing strawberries, whipped cream and hot fudge.

I see him pick up a note. "Who is it from?"

"Zoey," he calls. "She says we should try not to repeat last year's performance."

Josh pulls his tie down, joining me in the bathroom. "You look beautiful tonight. I'm sorry it took me so long to get out of there."

"It's okay. You've made a bunch of new friends over here," I tease him.

"No one I really want to talk to," he insists, undoing the zipper on my dress. We lift it over my head together. Discarding it, Josh runs his hands down my arms.

"Who do you really want to talk to?" I lean back against his chest, making eye contact in the mirror.

He undoes my bra next. "You."

The feel of his lips on my collarbone sends shivers through my body.

"Dad said he got an offer on Grandpa's farm," I tell him, distractedly.

His hands on my bare hips are almost all I can concentrate on. I started wearing thigh-high nylons a couple of weeks ago for comfort and went without panties tonight to facilitate this specific activity.

"From who?" Josh asks, turning me to face him.

He drops to his knees before me, flicking his tongue around my belly button. His hands caress my extended stomach, coming to rest on either side.

"He wasn't sure. A lawyer from Milwaukee called him. Said his client would meet the asking price and wanted to close the first weekend in March."

It's tempting to just forget about the farm and succumb to Josh's attentions. His hands have drifted in opposite directions while he continues kissing and nipping at my stomach. 

"At least you'll be able to meet whoever it is." Josh eventually replies, looking up at me with those deep, brown eyes.

"What do you say we not have sex in the bathroom?" I hint.

Josh leers at me. "Wanna do it on the coffee table again?"

"Ooo, the coffee table!" I giggle, suddenly remembering the room service cart. "Go lie down on it."

He looks ready to protest, but just shrugs and complies with my request. Our sexual obsession with coffee tables has pretty much reached complete weirdness in the past year.

***

I finally open my eyes to see her above me, smiling down. Her eyes are filled with love and I reach for her hands.

"Josh?" Donna finally speaks.

"Yeah?"

"We should probably get up before"

***

CRACK!

Before I can finish the sentence, it happens. Some kind of Valentine's Day hex finds Josh flat on his back, naked, amid the crushed ruins of yet another coffee table with me standing over him.

"Before what, Donnatella?" Josh starts to laugh. "Before we destroy another piece of furniture?"

"Are you okay?" I giggle. His laughter at the situation is contagious.

"Yeah, you?"

My yeah' is lost to the pounding on the door. "Mr. Lyman?"

"Everything's fine!" Josh calls to the agent who must have heard the racket.

"You wouldn't mind opening the door would you, sir?"

I scramble into the bathroom, throwing Josh his boxers.

***

As soon as I get my shorts on, I open the door, running my hands through my hair. The truth is probably my best explanation. "The coffee table wasn't structurally sound."

The agent's eyes widen in amusement as she considers my post-coital appearance.

I look down.

There's whipped cream in the shape of Donna's butt on my stomach.

"I'll make sure we get things taken care of before the hotel staff cleans in the morning." The young woman is biting her lip, trying not to laugh out loud.

"We'd appreciate it."

"Good night, sir."

"Good night." I close the door and turn around see Donna standing in the doorway of the bathroom, wearing my dress shirt.

"Those boxers just make me want to jump you right there." She says, sauntering towards the room service cart and picking out a strawberry.

"Buttercup's a real turn on, huh?" I walk towards her, both of us ignoring the remains of the coffee table. I stop a hair's breadth from her, smelling my cologne mingling with her perfume. Donna slowly dips the strawberry into the heated fudge before offering it to me. I take a bite and then kiss the palm of her hand with my chocolate covered lips.

"Let's go to bed," Donna suggests.

***

We relax on the king-sized bed, feeding each other fudge-dipped strawberries until they're gone and then making love again. I did some research on positions we'll need to use in a month or two, so we try out one of them. 

A cramp in my leg tells me I'm going to need to increase my flexibility for any of these to work. I'm lying on my side with Josh behind me and a pillow supporting my abdomen.

When we've finished, I'm content to simply roll over and mold myself to his body, sinking into his arms.

Resting my head on Josh's chest, I indulge in my favorite cuddling activities: tracing his scars with my fingertips and listening to him breathe. In the quiet of the night, I'm almost asleep when I feel something flitter inside me.

***

Donna suddenly tenses in my arms. "What's wrong, babe?" I yawn, trying to re-supply my brain with oxygen.

"I felt it move." Her voice is filled with awe.

From the books I'm reading, I know, logically, I won't be able to feel anything for another couple of months, even though Donna can. Logic doesn't stop me from pressing my hand to her stomach. 

Rolling Donna on to her back, I wiggle down to give the little bear a kiss and wish it good night. She gave me the new ultrasound picture before we went to the reception. You still can't tell if it's a boy or a girl, but at least you can tell it's a baby now. 

I've thought up three or four names for a girl. My favorite is still Katherine Eileen, after both our paternal grandmothers. I've got one boy's name in mind, but I'm keeping a secret. On the odd chance we break the familial traditions and have a boy, I want to surprise her. 

Donna swears if they don't let her have a C-section, she wants to be drugged out of her mind. I figure I'll have the birth certificate filled out before she can put up a fight, either way. 

Also, since we're not sure of the gender, we keep referring to it as the little bear. We agreed we don't give it any kind of prenatal complex.

Donna's newest thing is insisting the kid is going to be late, based on the fact that I can't be on time for anything. Lying with my head resting on her stomach, I spend the next fifteen minutes talking to my kid. 

I heard a rumor that CJ and Carol are starting a baby pool and I'm hell bent to win it. One of my strategies is repeatedly suggesting a date to the bear. Trying to convince it to be like its mom — early to everything.

Now if I can just figure out when I turned into a complete sap

***

Josh is talking to the bear, encouraging it to not be late. He is such an utter wuss about this. The big, bad, cold-hearted politician totally wrapped around the still developing finger of a fetus. 

If his political adversaries could see this, they'd probably die of shock. If Leo or any of the guys could see this, they'd never let him live it down. I don't even want to think about what CJ would say.

Never in a million years would I have imagined Josh to get this freakish over us having a baby. He is all over picking out names. He floated a couple of them by me before he left for the summit and they weren't weird or anything. 

I'm seriously considering foisting the job off on him completely; I'm terrible at deciding on names.

The warmth of Josh's breath on my stomach along with the beat of his heart against my hip lull me to sleep before I realize how tired I am.

***

Rustling cotton against my chest awakens me as the travel alarm clock goes off. Donna fell asleep wearing my shirt and, as always, she beat the alarm clock up.

If she was hoping to motivate me into getting out of bed with the kiss she's presently giving me, she is sorely mistaken. 

***

Josh is downright jovial this morning when they join the rest us for breakfast. Donna is also looking much happier than she has in the past month.

Nobody should have as much sex as these two do.

"What's the matter, CJ?" Toby slides into the chair next to mine.

He follows my gaze to the happy couple at the buffet. "Ah. Rather saccharine, aren't they?"

"I think I'm just jealous. How often do you think they do it?"

"According to the Secret Service, they broke a coffee table last night." Sam interjects, sitting down on my other side, joining the conversation.

"Having sex?" Toby's incredulous question mingles with my disbelieving "another one?"

Toby turns his raised eyebrow to me. "Another one?"

***

I can tell I'm interrupting something when I sit down opposite CJ. She and Sam instantly start talking about baseball. Something neither of them cares about.

"Um, guys? It's February. Spring training doesn't even start for another two weeks." I wave a forkful of scrambled eggs in the air between them.

Toby is just shaking his head at the two of them. "Get a clue," he growls before turning to me. "So, Josh, what's the mysterious thing on the itinerary tonight?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Marbury said something last night about a play, but Donna won't tell me what it is."

"A play?" Sam groans.

"Something the First Lady set up." To be honest, I could care less. After three weeks in London, all I want is to make it through the next twenty-four hours, get on Air Force One and go home to my own bed.

***

"The Full Monty?" The look on Leo's face is priceless. He's staring at the theater marquee like it might bite him.

"This is why we fear our women." I mutter to the equally horrified-looking British Prime Minister while tugging at the collar of my tux. This wasn't just a spur of the moment thing, because I didn't bring my tux to London. Zoey delivered it after the summit sessions were over today. Dr. Bartlet planned this in great detail. 

"Josh?" Dr. Bartlet calls from near the door of the theater where she's standing with Mrs. Smyth, CJ, Zoey and Donna.

"Yes, ma'am?" I head over, unconsciously wrapping my arm around Donna's waist. She's wearing a stunning wine-colored dress I haven't seen her in before.

"You and Donna are excused from this little exercise in negative reinforcement. Neil and Angela," she points to two Secret Service agents, "are driving you to dinner and a night at The Savoy. Away from the rest of us."

***

Josh looks like I'm speaking Greek.

"Ma'am?"

"I didn't stutter, Josh. Consider it your birthday present from my jackass of a husband. Now go, have a good time. Just take it easy on the coffee tables." I shoo them into the waiting limo before turning to Jed, who is looking as confused as his Deputy Chief of Staff. "You are a five-star jackass and to pay for it, you and your staff will be subjected to an evening of contemporary musical theater. Minus the victims of your jackassedness."

"Abbey, men get naked in this thing," Leo protests from his place at Jed's side. Colin Smyth, Sam and Toby look equally distressed.

I sweep past the five of them into the theater. "I'm going to need a front row seat then."

Behind me, I hear Zoey snickering. "It could be worse. She was trying to get tickets to something called Cock Talk'."

***

Josh is still looking confused when we climb out of the limo at the hotel; he hasn't said anything since we left the theater.

"What's going on, Donna?" He finally asks as the Secret Service agents escort us through the lobby.

"I'm not 100% sure," I admit. "But I think it starts with Jack Norris not having a heart attack."

"WHAT?!"

"Evidently, Jack Norris didn't have a heart attack. Leo used it as an excuse to send you over here, because the President felt you needed some foreign policy experience. Dr. Bartlet found out and got a little hacked off. Her idea of revenge involved forcing Leo to bring me along this weekend and dragging the staff to see a musical, while setting us free for a romantic evening. She told me it was to make up for you being over here on your birthday. I didn't know anything about it until after we got here."

"I heard there was a diabolical plot."

I'm not sure if he's referring to what we're talking about right now or something else.

"There are many diabolical plots, Joshua."

We trade smiles with the maitre de, who ushers us into a private dining room complete with a string quartet.

"Wow," is all I can say. 

"She was really pissed." Josh decides as he pulls my chair out for me.

***

Dinner was amazing. Donna and I talked about nothing and everything, something we haven't had a chance to do in a while. We were able to reconnect and I remembered again why I so desperately want to marry this woman and spend the rest of my life with her. Not to mention have a bushel of kids with her.

"I love you," I murmur into her hair. We're looking out the window of our moonlit suite at the Thames River. I'm standing behind her, my chin resting on her shoulder and my arms around her waist.

"There's a coffee table over there."

"Very funny, Donnatella."

"Thirteen days, Joshua."

"Is there anything left to do?"

"No, our mothers took care of everything over the phone. Sam and Matt Skinner are planning your bachelor party, by the way."

"God save me. Who's doing your bachelorette party?"

"CJ and Margaret." 

"At least you'll get strippers."

"I thought men didn't like strippers," she teases me.

"I might have been lying." I admit, my fingers finding the zipper of her gown.

***

I turn in his arms to face him, locking my hands around his neck and playing with the curls on his neck. 

"Lying? My man? Lie to me?" I tease.

"I wasn't your man back then," he replies, huskily.

"You were hot to trot after Joey Lucas."

"You were telling me to gather rosebuds, if I'm not mistaken." He displays his dimples for me, distracting my attention while he slowly unzips my dress.

"I was misdirecting you." My gown falls to the floor, leaving me naked except for my heels.

"Built-in bra?" Josh's knowledge of women's clothing has come a long way in the past 15 months.

"You know it, baby."

His eyes follow me as I saunter over to the bed, step out of the heels and lie down.

***

Donna raises her eyebrows at my fully-clothed appearance. My eyes lock on her vivid blue ones, promising her everything I have to offer.

Including my Chippendale's impersonation. 

The jacket goes first. I slowly undo the button and let it slide from my body to join her dress on the floor. Taking two steps forward, I ditch the slick soled shoes. I take my time unbuttoning my shirt, carefully removing the cufflinks. The tie is next: undone, but still strung around my neck.

Donna is sucking on her finger; our eyes still locked on one another.

I undo my pants and in one swift motion shed my suspenders and step out of the trousers.

***

Josh is standing before me in his tuxedo shirt, tie and the irreverently named I'm gonna get some' boxers from last Valentine's Day. With a growing smirk, he strips off the shirt and shorts before joining me on the bed, naked and aroused.

"I think you just turned yourself on there, buddy." I say before capturing his lips with mine.

"I think you do this to me."

***

A glance at the clock near the bed tells me it's 2 a.m. and I'm wide-awake. Donna is curled on her side, snoring softly.

Cautiously getting out of bed, I slip on my boxers and grab some briefing notes out of my bag. Sprawling into a chair by the window, I open a folder to start going through the domestic stuff that has piled up in my absence. 

***

Waking up, I unconsciously reach for Josh. Finding only empty space beside me, I sit up and look at the clock. 6 a.m. We need to get up and going, there are some final ceremonies this morning and then we leave for home at noon. 

Josh is asleep in a chair by the window, briefing notes scattered around him. I pick everything up and reach for the folder on his chest.

"What?!" Josh jerks awake when I take the folder.

"It's 6 a.m. We need to get showered and dressed."

Instead of getting up, Josh pulls me into his lap and together we watch the skies begin to change from a deep, pre-dawn blue to the first pinks of the sunrise. A knock at the door finally interrupts our momentary bliss and reminds us there is work to be done and a country to run.

At least for another week. Then the real fun begins.


	20. Going to the Chapel

**__**

Saturday, March 1, 2003 — 4:45 p.m.

As a child, I envisioned my wedding as one of those fairytale types: Prince Charming and I at the front of a huge cathedral surrounded by hundreds of our friends and family. The whole Princess Diana thing except my prince would be a doctor or some other respected professional.

I am fifteen minutes from walking down the aisle of my family's church on my father's arm and getting married to the man whose present occupation can be listed as professional antagonist.'

Not exactly what I envisioned when I was twelve.

After Josh proposed, I thought about it and decided I wanted to get married in the church I was baptized in, the church I was confirmed in. I didn't want a huge fancy reception with food nobody would eat and an orchestra my family wouldn't want to dance to. I didn't want to be the D.C. spectacle of the week.

Josh wanted to run away to Vegas and elope.

I think he had the right idea.

"Daddy, I think I'm going to be sick."

***

Donna's grandmother, Marjorie, smells like Vick's Vapor-Rub. 

Why do I know this? She kissed me after I escorted her down the aisle. Her grandfather, Nathan, settled for shaking my hand.

I might look good, but I'm sweltering in this damn tux; Mom tied my tie too tight; I haven't been allowed to see Donna at all today, which was a tradition neither of us was interested in observing; I need to pee.

The last thing I might want to take care of before the ceremony.

"Ready?" Abbey Bartlet smiles at me when I offer her my arm. She and the President are sitting with my mother, filling the role of my family.

"I wanted to elope, you know." I mutter.

"Yeah, we had this conversation already, Josh." President Bartlet says from behind me. "Get the show on the road."

Get the show on the road? I'm still trying to figure out where the last three days went. Especially Thursday, could somebody please tell me what happened to Thursday? 

Not that Thursday was horrible; it really wasn't for the most part. Thursday was just huge in a lot of different ways.

**__**

Thursday, February 27, 2003.

"What time is your mom's flight in?"

"8:30," I call from the shower.

"And then you're picking up the stuff from the dry cleaners?"

"Yes."

"Then you're doing what?"

"Donna?" I stick my head out of the shower and look at her.

"What?" 

She's sitting on the vanity, waiting for me to finish so she can have her turn.

"Stop."

I leave the shower running for her, but climb out and start toweling off my hair. "Tell me again why Gerry isn't coming at all."

Pat's husband Gerry is boycotting the wedding. 

"I don't know. Why do you care? You don't like him anyway. You need to get going." She slaps me on the butt when she squeezes past.

It's 7:30. I need to get dressed, find my way from Paul and Deb's house to the airport, pick up Mom and make it downtown for a meeting by 9:15.

In Madison — I doubt traffic will be an issue.

"Okay, I'm going." I holler from the bedroom. "I love you."

"Take Timmy with you!" 

"What?" I stick my head back in the bathroom.

"Pat, Kelly and I are doing a girls thing this morning. Can you take Timmy? His car seat is already in Dad's Blazer. What are you staring at?"

"You," I answer. She's more beautiful every day.

"Go or you'll be late."

"You're pushy, you know that?" I smirk at her.

"I'm pregnant and I'm getting married in less than three days. I'm entitled."

I let her have the last word and head downstairs to collect Timmy.

***

"Who dat?" Timmy points at Mom as she makes her way towards us.

"My Mamme."

"Oh. Down?" 

I've been carrying him since we got out of the car. Mostly because I'm afraid he'll get away from me.

"Not yet."

"Unca Joss! Down!" 

He manages to wiggle out of my arms just as Mom reaches us. She snags him right before he smacks his head on the floor.

"Nice catch." I tell her as she gives the two-year-old back to me.

"I had plenty of practice with squirming little boys," she laughs. "Do you have a name?"

Timmy buries his face in my neck and shakes his whole body.

"No, you don't have a name? Well, we had better give you one then." 

We collect Mom's luggage and get to the car without a major incident. I let Tim down in the parking lot but insist he hold my hand. It's still a little icy despite the warm weather of the past week. Mom keeps giving me this weird look while I strap my nephew into his car seat.

"What?" I ask on our way out of the parking lot.

"Nothing." She shakes her head to emphasize her words. 

With no small amount of luck, I manage to navigate my way from the airport to my next destination.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Mom questions.

"Which this?" There are 97 separate things she could be referring to.

"This morning's this."

"Yeah. I want to do this." I pull into a parking spot at the law office of Daniel Kohls.

This morning's this requires my mother's presence. I haul Tim out of his car seat and we head inside. 

Entering the lobby of Kohls' office, I assume the baby-faced, associate-type is from the firm my attorney in D.C. retained to represent me here.

"Mr. Lyman?" The guy stands up and offers me his hand. "Chris Proles."

"Josh. This is my mother, Elisa and my nephew, Tim."

"Pleasure to meet you."

Nice kid, I'd be slightly more comfortable if he were old enough to vote.

"Mr. Proles, when did you graduate from law school?" Mom is straight to the point. She ran Dad's office for years before he gave up his private practice and joined a New York firm.

"Last May," the kid admits.

"You like real estate and probate?" I ask, something about this kid clicks with me.

"I hate it, but I aced it on the bar exam so"

"They stuck you there," Mom finishes for him.

The receptionist takes us back to a conference room. We haggle over a couple of things in the contract I want changed and while they're retyping it, I ask my young attorney what he wants to be doing.

"Con law," he replies simply.

"You're kidding." Constitutional Law was frequently considered the biggest pain in the ass class at Yale Law.

I, of course, loved it.

It was the only part of law school I liked.

"Nope. I'm fascinated by the Constitution."

We're interrupted when they return with the contract. I sign it, hand over the check and accept the keys in return. 

Mom and I round Timmy up and head for the dry cleaners to pick up my tux and Donna's dress.

"Unca Joss? Cheeseburger?" Tim calls from the backseat.

It's 10:30 in the morning and he wants McDonald's. I've eaten at McDonald's every day this week, because I've had Tim every day this week. 

"Nope. We're going to Grandma's."

My mother is finding this far too amusing.

"Please?"

"Sorry. Grandma told me to starve you this morning." Donna, Pat, me, Fred, even Grandpa, we are all fair game for a temper tantrum. Deb, however, is a different story.

Grandma is a scared cow.

"Why?"

"So you'd be extra hungry for lunch."

I argue with legislators for a living, I can argue with a two-year-old until he falls asleep.

"Why?"

"She's making something special for lunch."

Three more blocks and I'm home free.

"What?"

"Can't tell you."

"Why?"

"It's a surprise." On that note, I park the Blazer and set him free to watch TV until lunch.

"So what's for lunch?" Mom asks, following me into the kitchen.

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches," I reply with a smirk.

Deb and my mother have spent far too much time on the phone since Christmas and greet each other like old friends. Feeling an exchange of baby pictures coming on, I join Tim in the living room.

Not long after we finish our PB&J's with the crusts cut off, Donna and Pat get home.

"Come with me," Donna sways a shopping bag at me.

"How much money did I spend today?" I ask, following her up the stairs to our room.

"You bought your nephew the world's cutest tux. It matches yours, by the way. And you bought your niece the most adorable green velvet flower girl's dress. And you got me some shoes."

"More shoes?"

Donna owns more shoes than Imelda Marcos. 

"Excuse me? Whose feet have swollen to twice their normal size?" She sits on the bed and lifts a foot up as a visual aid. It is slightly swollen, but not twice its normal size.

"Back hurt?" I ask. She's always snarky when her back hurts.

"Yes." Donna pouts and reaches around to rub her lower back.

I can take a hint. Surveying the room, I note the neon pink beanbag chair.

She's big enough now that it's uncomfortable for her to lie on her stomach. Giving her massages has become an exercise in creativity the past couple of weeks.

"Come over here," I gesture to the squishy vinyl.

"Josh, I'm tired," she whines, clearly in no mood for games.

"I know, Donna. Come over here and I'll rub your back."

With a groan, she gets up, before considering my offer and the relic of her teenage years. "I'm never going to be able to get back up."

"I promise, I'll get you up."

"You got me in this condition, " she complains, but kneels down and, pulling her shirt off, settles on the beanbag.

I straddle her waist and begin to massage the tension out of her muscles.

"God, you're good at this," she groans as I work on her lower back. I should be, I get enough practice.

She falls silent as I continue the massage, the odd grunt escaping when I hit an especially sore spot. Gathering her long, blonde hair, I move it aside and lean forward to kiss her shoulders.

"Josh?" Donna murmurs.

"Yes?"

"Is that a Spongebob in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

When I leaned over her it became pretty obvious while she's been relaxing, I've been getting a bit tense.

"I'm just happy to see you?" I guess, my voice an octave lower than normal.

"Wrong answer," Donna informs me.

I press my lips to her shoulder again. 

"Right answer," she tells me, sinking herself deeper into the beanbag.

"Are you okay?" I whisper in her ear, meaning is she comfortable.

Her reply is to groan when I suck her earlobe into my mouth. 

***

"Get me out of this thing."

I crawl to my feet and stand over her, trying to figure out how I'm going to do this. With little ceremony, I decide on just dumping her over on to her back, beanbag chair and all.

"Josh!" she screams.

Pulling the beanbag chair off her, I reach down and lift her up.

"It worked, didn't it?" I offer in my own defense when she glares at me.

An "are you two decent?" follows a tap at the door.

"At least it's your mother." Donna giggles before we chorus back. "NO!"

"Get dressed. We need to leave in twenty minutes to meet the plane."

Donna's parents are overly nervous about meeting the President in a social situation and decided they didn't want to go the airport. My mom goes with us. 

And Tim.

I think Mom just wants to see Leo.

***

"Josh?" Sam and CJ have fallen into step with me as we head towards the cars. 

I keep casting a glance over to where my mother and Leo are getting way too cozy. 

"Yeah, CJ?"

"Why is there a small child wrapped around your neck?"

Pat put Tim down for a nap before we left the house. Evidently, he wasn't asleep. He crawled into his car seat while I was holding the door open for Donna. Then he wanted a piggyback ride from the car to the plane. Now, he won't get down. 

The President wanted to know if we needed to get a security clearance for him. The First Lady hasn't stopped giggling since she laid eyes on us. Toby keeps making Mini-Me cracks and the West Wing Senior Assistants Association is taking far more photographs than necessary. 

Most of which will be used for blackmail, I'm sure.

"I'm the coolest uncle known to man?" I offer in response to CJ's question. I'm trying very hard not to bad-mouth the boy's father in front of him, especially using language I know he'll repeat. Although hearing Tim try to say cocksucker could be funny.

"Whatever, but he's not coming to the party tonight. What do you keep looking at?" Sam follows my eyes. "Oh. That has to be disturbing on a lot of levels."

CJ looks over and shakes her head. "You two are reading way too much into that."

"CJ, my boss has his hand on my mother's hip!" If they kiss on the tarmac, I'll have the heart attack Abbey Bartlet's been threatening me with for the past year.

"Josh, your voice just got really squeaky right there." Donna comes up behind me and picks Tim off my back and setting him on the ground.

"Do you have to point that out every time it happens?" I grouse at her. I actually need to work today; Donna's walking me to the motorcade.

"Timmy," I squat down in front of him when we reach the limo. "You need to stay with Aunt Donna, okay? I've got to go work."

"No." It's sort of cute the way he scrunches his face up and shakes his head.

"I'll see you later."

"No!" The temper tantrum he throws is not at all cute.

"Josh?" The President calls from inside the limo.

"Yes, sir?"

"Bring the kid."

"I'm killing Pat as soon as the wedding is over." Kissing Donna quickly, I grab Tim and climb into the car.

Leo hands me a file as soon as the door is shut. "How's your knowledge of nuclear physics?"

"About to expand dramatically?" I guess warily, settling Tim on the seat next to me.

Opening the file, I look up and glance between the two men sitting across from me. Leo silently hands me a plastic card.

"Leo" I stare at the NSC card like it's going to bite me.

"I know you don't want it, but we can't afford four more years of you sitting on the sidelines. Our foreign policy is a disaster. We're going to have Donna front more of the domestic stuff; she's fully capable of handling it. You're going to split your time between domestic policy and planting your foot up Tom Colburn's ass." Leo doesn't give me a chance to object. It is a well-known fact our Office of Homeland Security is suffering tremendously under Colburn's mismanagement.

"Josh, I need you to do this and I need to know you'll be there when the shit hits the fan." President Bartlet gestures to the file in my hands. "Everything in there is from the agency directors reporting to Colburn. What they consider to be the biggest stumbling blocks. Read it, analyze it and come up with a plan to fix it."

"When?" I know better than to argue.

"By the time you get back to Washington on Wednesday." Leo checks his watch.

"Wednesday? We're out until next Monday." I'm a half an octave from whining.

"Wednesday." Leo says again.

Guess it's a good thing I didn't book the trip to Hawaii for our honeymoon.

Arriving at the hotel, I realize I don't have anything for Tim to do while I work. Margaret hands me a stack of binders and phone messages. The next four hours are going to suck, monumentally suck.

***

"Here." Toby is standing over me with a package.

"What is it?" It's heavy.

He sits next to my sleeping shadow and me. Luckily, Timmy crashed before I finished my first phone call.

"Open it."

It's wrapped in the Sunday comics. Pulling back Dilbert, I discover a yellowed piece of parchment mounted on an ornately carved oak plaque. The wording, done in black calligraphy, surrounds a picture of Donna and I from the first campaign.

"Toby, how Thank you. You didn't need to do this, but thank you."

"Your mother was kind enough to send me the text from hers. We both thought you would agree with your dad's sentiments." Toby fidgets a bit, unnerved by the emotion he's displaying.

"You don't know how much I appreciate this. I tried to work on one in London, but I just couldn't get it right." My fingers trace the Hebrew of the ketubah, the marriage covenant I promised my mother I would write and asked Toby to help me with.

"Hey, everybody's ready to go down to dinner." Sam bounces up. Looking me up and down, he grins. "Lots of carbs tonight, Josh. Lots of carbs."

"Donna will have your ass if I die of alcohol poisoning."

**__**

Saturday, March 1, 2003 — 4:55 p.m.

I'm petrified.

I'm standing up here, alone save for the clergyman, looking out at our guests and I have no idea what my own name is.

My mother is sitting in the front pew with Leo, who is standing in for my father. The President and Dr. Bartlet are seated in the row behind them. Donna's mother is on the opposite side, crying already.

Fred, Ed, Larry and Chris are standing at the doors. All of them refuse to make eye contact with me. I get the impression they think I'm going to make a break for it.

Donna decided on white ties and tails for the entire wedding party to go with the bridesmaids' dark green dresses. She made me promise to wear the damn cummerbund, but it was driving me insane. I ditched it in favor of my usual suspenders.

Great, now my mother is starting to cry.

Have I mentioned I can't keep a coherent thought in my head?

***

CJ, Zoey and Margaret have gone to hook up with Sam, Matt and Toby, leaving me alone with Dad and Ginger.

"Josh isn't wearing his cummerbund," Bonnie reports, coming back into the room after checking with the minister. She and Ginger nominated themselves for the role of my personal assistant. "Otherwise, I think we're ready."

I'm not ready.

We should have eloped.

"Donna, if you don't breathe, you're going to hyperventilate." Ginger grabs me by both shoulders and looks me in the eye. "You can do this. Josh is waiting for you at the front of the church and if you don't make it there, he's going to make the rest of our lives a living hell."

Daddy, who has been looking suspiciously teary, smiles at me and nods his agreement.

I can do this.

I can do this without bursting into tears.

"If you don't marry him, Donna, Matt Skinner will." Bonnie throws out.

Well, that ends my urge to break down and cry.

"Do you think he'll remember his name or will I have to slip him an index card?" I giggle.

"Remember it like he did yesterday at rehearsal?" Ginger and Bonnie start laughing with me.

It wasn't entirely Josh's fault he couldn't remember his middle name. Friday was a pretty long day.

**__**

Friday, February 28, 2003.

Unable to get comfortable in bed, I'm still awake when the men get home at 2:15 a.m. They closed the bar. That does not bode well for Joshua's condition.

I can hear Dad in the driveway. "Fred, get the wheelbarrow out of the garage."

Oh no.

Grabbing my robe, I head downstairs to see what they did to the father of my unborn child. 

"Hi, honey!" Dad calls when I step onto the driveway.

I don't see Josh anywhere. "Please tell me he's still alive."

"Who?"

"Josh, Daddy. What did you guys do to him?"

"Surprisingly, very little." Fred appears with the rusty old wheelbarrow.

"Where is he?"

Dad pops the hatch on the Blazer and sticks his head in the back.

"He went upstairs to bed. I don't know what he did this afternoon, but he looks like death on a triscuit," Dad answers, pulling a case of beer out of the truck and setting it in the wheel barrow. "We didn't drink it all, so I figured we could finish it tomorrow night."

I go back upstairs and find Josh sitting on the edge of the bed, in his boxers, fiddling with a plastic card.

"You do look like hell." I sit next to him.

He silently hands me the card with National Security Council emblazoned on the front. Reading it, I see it contains instructions for him in the event of a nuclear, biological or chemical attack. He is to either go up on Air Force One with the President or to a secret underground shelter as directed by the NSC.

"What's this?"

"I had one before, four years ago. I was the only one of us who got one. I gave it back. I couldn't look anybody in the eye, knowing if something horrible happened, I'd live and the rest of you wouldn't." He won't look at me now either.

"They want you to start doing intelligence estimates or something?" I guess.

"Homeland Security. I'm Tom Colburn's new worst enemy."

"Good." Tom is a nice guy, but he's not seeing the bigger picture like Josh can. To quote my mother he can't see the forest for the trees.'

"Good?" Josh turns to look at me, confusion prevalent in his eyes.

"Yes. You listen to people who know what they're talking about, Josh. Colburn doesn't." I give him the card back.

My support doesn't do much to ease his discontent.

"I just, I don't know."

"You know what I know?" I slide my hand along his inner thigh.

"Hmm?" He cocks an eyebrow in expectation.

My lips make contact with his, parting them slightly. Our tongues meet and dance slowly, to a song only we can hear.

Still kissing him, I gently push him back on the bed, propping myself up on one elbow. My free hand roams his naked chest.

He sighs against my kiss, a sigh of contentment from his soul. Josh brings his hand up to brush a hair from my face. He lingers, tracing my cheeks with his fingernails.

I pull my lips from his and meander down his neck, taking my time, trying to defuse some of his anxiety.

"Promise me something?" Josh asks suddenly, his voice barely audible.

I stop and bring my face level with his again, waiting for him to go on.

"Promise me you'll always be there for me. I can't live if you're not with me." Brown eyes betray his insecurity with what Leo and the President are asking of him.

"Always, Joshua. I'll always be there."

***

"Aunt Donna!" Sticky hands prod my exposed arm. The rest of me is burrowed under the blankets in Josh's arms.

Pulling the covers from my head, I see Kelly's big blue eyes and syrup covered face staring at me.

"Mamme made waffles!" she tells me.

At least I think that's what she tried to say. She and Tim have both been mangling Josh's Yiddish term of endearment for his mother.

"I see." I try to smile at her, but the light coming through the windows is the pink of early morning. I refuse to be cheerful with only four hours of sleep. "Why don't you go wash your face? I'll meet you in the kitchen."

"Uncle Josh needs to come too!" Kelly doesn't have it quite as bad as Timmy, but they both worship the ground Josh walks on.

Obviously, they don't know him like I do.

"He will," I promise her. In three or four hours, judging from the faint snoring and line of drool coming from the corner of his mouth.

Crawling out of Josh's arms, I slip on his boxers and sweatshirt from last night before heading down to the kitchen where Elisa and Mom are wrangling a herd of boisterous children.

"Tina and Mike showed up?" I accept the glass of orange juice Mom hands me and take a seat at the table.

"An hour ago, with your grandparents. Carl and Katie just go here. They're all in the living room."

Tina is Mom's older sister. Her family moved to Arizona last fall to be closer to my grandparents, who moved to Scottsdale the fall before I left for New Hampshire.

"Where's Joshua?" Elisa sets a plate of waffles in front of me.

"Drooling."

"Snoring as well, I bet," she laughs knowingly.

Josh only snores when he's drunk or sleeping very hard.

"He was sober when they got home last night."

"Then his friends obviously didn't know what they were doing," Grandpa announces, kissing the top of my head while shooing my cousin Peter out of the chair next to me.

"He was pretty upset last night." The scent of someone thinking about cooking food attracts Fred like a moth to light.

"And why were you there?" Grandpa looks my seventeen-year-old brother up and down.

Fred, mouth full of waffles, looks to me for help.

"Because they asked him to be," I supply.

"I wasn't drinking." Fred throws out after he swallows.

"I have a question," I decide to rescue Fred and satisfy my curiosity at the same time. "What's with you and Leo, Elisa?"

From the smirk spreading across her face, I already know the answer.

"I've known Leo McGarry forever. He was Noah's best man when we got married in 1957. They were fraternity brothers at Harvard."

"Leo's messing with Josh like he did with Sam and Mallory." I can't help but snicker.

"Let him have his fun, dear."

***

Rehearsal starts promptly at 4 o'clock. Josh had to work most of the day again, leaving me to deal with my great-aunts and uncles and various other older relatives. All of who felt it necessary to express their disappointment in my being pregnant before the wedding.

I'm neurotic as hell by the time I get to the church.

CJ, Zoey, Margaret and my sister Pat are my attendants; Sam, Charlie, Toby and Matt Skinner are standing up with Josh. We spend the first ten minutes trying to pair them up. CJ and Sam, along with Charlie and Zoey are easy. Toby agrees to escort Margaret on the condition she not speak to him, leaving Pat with Matt.

Fred, Ed, Larry and Chris Wick are serving as ushers. They're in a corner squabbling over whether to button their jackets or not.

The rest of us are gathered in the first couple of pews going over details before we practice.

"Josh, you'll be escorting Donna's grandmother and both your mothers to their seats," Pastor Johnson explains.

"Along with the First Lady," Josh interjects. "After Marjorie and before my mother. Deb is last, right?"

"Right. Then I'll bring you back through the prep room and you'll enter the sanctuary from the front. The groomsmen will escort the bridesmaids up the aisle in reverse order."

"Toby and Margaret, Charlie and Zoey, Matt and Pat then finally Sam and CJ," I provide the order we haggled out.

"Then the flower girl and ring-bearer, correct?" Pastor Johnson glances between Mom and I.

Mom nods. "With any luck, they'll make it all the way."

"Paul will then escort Donna to the altar. Josh, you'll step down to meet them when they reach the first pews."

We go through the rest of the ceremony. There are a few changes we want made to the standard prayers and vows to accommodate Josh's beliefs. Once everything is settled, we practice.

And practice.

And practice.

Josh is completely clueless. 

The Lutheran wedding service has very little in common with the Jewish traditions he's accustomed too.

On take five, he screws up his own name.

"Index cards, Donna," he calls when Dad and I start down the aisle again. "Would it have killed you to give me index cards?"

CJ steps over and smacks the back of his head for me, effectively ending rehearsal since it's 6:30 and dinner is at 7.

***

The only member of my family entirely comfortable at dinner with the President is Timmy. Even Kelly is sitting between Pat and Mom casting covetous glances at her little brother, who is happily parked on Josh's lap.

None of them are sure how to act. Which is probably the only thing preventing my parents from sharing stories about my high school band camp days.

When we're all down to picking at our desserts, Sam stands and waits for everyone's attention.

Raising his beer, he starts his toast. "I had the most eloquent speech written"

He pauses for CJ, Josh, Leo and Toby to stop laughing.

"Seriously," Sam continues, slightly indignant. "It was fabulous. It was all about how Josh and I have been friends for years and the endless parade of losers I've seen him date: Jessica, Barb, Heather, Daphne, Marilyn, Carolyn, Jennifer, Jackie, Selma, Mandy"

"Sam, one word buddy, Rachelle." Josh interrupts. 

"She's sorry she couldn't make it, by the way," Sam flips back.

"Give the speech, Sam," Toby calls.

"Anyway, I know many of us here tonight are fundamentally disturbed at the thought of Josh Lyman getting married and having," Sam stops to gulp, "children.

"But when I disembarked the plane yesterday and Josh was standing there with Donna and"

"Timmy," Josh supplies when it becomes apparent Sam can't remember my nephew's name.

"Right. Thanks. Standing there with Donna and Timmy. I decided God is in his heaven, all is right with the world and," he gestures to Josh and I, "this is meant to be."

CJ stands up, a bit wobbly from too much wine. "Sit, Spanky," she orders before turning to Josh and I.

"Thank God you dumped the gomer boyfriend and drove halfway across the country to join the not-a-chance-in-hell Presidential campaign of a bleeding heart liberal, academic egghead New England governor. I was this close" she holds her fingers up a hairs' breadth apart, "to strangling the elitest Harvard fascist missed-the-Dean's-list-two-semesters-in-a-row Yankee jackass."

President Bartlet and Leo are both laughing so hard tears are running down their faces.

**__**

Saturday, March 1, 2003 — 5 p.m.

The beginning of the processional snaps me from my reverie.

"Still nervous?" Dad asks as we watch Sam and CJ start down the aisle.

I'm afraid that if I speak I'll start crying, so I just nod.

"Donna, your friend Sam was right last night. This is meant to be. Despite his apparent reputation, Josh is a good man and all he wants is to make you happy."

"He told you that?" I'm going to bawl it's inevitable.

"Believe it or not he did. When we were in Washington, before he proposed to you. He said he wasn't asking our permission, just advising us of his intentions."

I swear, if Dad starts crying I'm going to lose it.

***

Toby couldn't look any more uncomfortable if Mary Marsh were on his arm. I try to control my fidgeting as he turns and walks past me. His scowl, while in place, isn't as intense as normal, telling me he's happy for us.

Charlie and Zoey look perfect together. Seeing them devoted to one another after everything they've been through almost makes it worth getting shot.

There's not much to say about Matt and Pat. Matt is my rock-solid, dependable, friendly opposition. Pat is fast becoming a confidante. She and I had an interesting discussion last night over a couple of beers. Gerry, I learned, didn't come to the wedding because Gerry skipped town last week. She didn't want to ruin our day, so she's waiting to tell everyone until Sunday.

Sam guides CJ towards me with grace. Two of my best friends, they both stop to hug me before taking their places.

I can't help but grin at the sight of Kelly and Tim decked out in formalwear. They are absolutely adorable. Both of them make it to the front of the church, which was a serious concern. They kept stopping half way during rehearsal yesterday.

Donna didn't want to walk down the aisle to the traditional wedding march. She picked out something called Cavatina. The first strains of which begin to fill the sanctuary.

Oh. My. God.

"Breathe, Josh." Sam whispers.

***

The music starts and without another word, Dad offers me his arm.

I studiously avoid eye contact with anyone and focus solely on Joshua. He steps down and meets Dad and I at the first pew.

So far, so good.

Dad offers Josh his hand and pulls him into an embrace.

***

"Make her happy," Paul tells me, in a voice only I can hear.

"It's my goal in life," I promise him.

Giving Donna my arm, I guide her the rest of the way to the altar.

Pastor Johnson smiles and motions for everyone to be seated. 

"The grace of our Lord be with us all," he begins.

***

I have a death grip on Josh's hand. I'm paying no attention to the scripture readings or the sermon; I am simply trying to not freak out.

Before I know it, Pastor Johnson is addressing Josh.

"Will you have this woman to be your wife? To live together, after God's ordinances, in the holiest state of matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her so long as you both shall live?"

Josh's voice is strong and clear as he answers, "I will."

"Will you have this man to be your husband? To live together, after God's ordinances, in the holiest state of matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him so long as you both shall live?"

I start nodding, my voice croaking out, "I will."

Giving my bouquet to CJ, Josh and I turn to face each another for our vows, joining hands to affirm our oaths.

We wanted to do the vows without prompting from the pastor, but this is the part Josh was having so much trouble with yesterday.

***

I can do this. I can remember my own damn name.

"I, Joshua Elijah Lyman, take you, Donnatella Natalie Moss, to be my wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish til death us do part."

I think the whoop came from CJ.

Donna's smile is the sweetest thing I have ever seen in my life.

***

Oh God, it's my turn. 

Josh nailed his; I can do mine.

"I, Donnatella Natalie Moss, take you, Joshua Elijah Lyman, to be my husband. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish til death us do part."

Okay, so I choked up on the death part a little bit. I'm entitled.

Oh, Josh, tell me I am not seeing tears in your eyes. If you start, I'm finished.

Sam, just give him the ring. Please, Sam, give him the ring.

***

Sam gives me the ring and I take Donna's hand.

"I give you this ring as a sign of my love and my faithfulness," I pledge, sliding it on to her finger.

***

Taking Josh's band from Sam, I slip it half way on his finger before I start.

"I give you this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness."

In all the years I've known Josh, I've never seen the green flecks in his eyes before today and they mesmerize me. We're supposed to turn and look at Pastor Johnson, but it just feels wrong to break eye contact.

"Those who God has joined together, let no one tear asunder."

***

We stand there, lost in one another's souls while our parents, Leo accompanying my mother, light a pair of candles.

"Josh," Sam hisses, not so subtly poking me in the kidney and breaking the trance.

We're supposed to do something here, aren't we? 

The candle thing. Yeah, we're supposed to light the unity candle.

***

Somehow we manage to get the candle lit without setting ourselves on fire.

I chalk it up to the same divine intervention that got Josh to remember his vows.

We step back to our places for yet another blessing or prayer. I'm honestly lost as to what is next.

***

My mind is a complete blank as I stand there, waiting for whatever comes next. Hoping I don't have to remember anything else.

"You may kiss the bride."

That I can handle.

When we finally come up for air, I hear a scattering of applause and a great deal of laughter.

Pastor Johnson is one of those laughing as he nods for us to face the congregation.

"Ladies and gentleman, Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Lyman."


	21. Toasts & Traditions

**__**

Saturday, March 2, 2003 — 7 p.m.

"If I never have another picture taken of me in my life it will be too soon," Josh grumps as we make our way into the Memorial Union on the campus of the University of Wisconsin.

I don't know why he's griping, we kept the pictures to a bare minimum and most of them were done before the ceremony. All we had to do after were the ones with the both of us in them. 

"Quit whining."

The problem is he's frustrated. We spent an extra few minutes in the limo to give our wedding party time to get up to the room, but not long enough to actually do anything except get Josh all hot and bothered.

CJ and Sam took over reception planning months ago. I'm a little afraid of what's in the works because Sam's a little too excited if you ask me.

"Go away. Sam's not ready yet," CJ is guarding the door, arms crossed, attitude engaged.

Josh just smirks at her, pulling me down the hall and around a corner.

"Josh!" I protest to no avail.

***

I shut her up by resuming our activities from the limo.

She can't nag if I'm kissing her. 

Welcome to the Joshua Lyman marriage philosophy.

Donna stumbles backward until we encounter the wall of the hallway. I can't begin to figure out how this damn dress works so I settle for running my thumbs over the fabric covering her breasts. She moans against my kiss, bringing her leg up to rub my crotch.

The silk of her dress against my wool trousers has me wishing for a more secluded spot. 

"God, you two. Get a room!"

I pull my lips from Donna's just far enough to retort. "Okay."

"I need to drink." The click of CJ's heels signals her departure.

Giving my new wife a series of quick kisses, I attempt to delay the inevitable dog and pony show.

"The sooner the reception is over, the sooner the honeymoon starts," Donna smirks at me a bit, wiping her lipstick from my face.

"I'm going to need index cards for this, aren't I?" I sigh in defeat.

***

Sam introduces us as we enter the ballroom. The novelty of being Mrs. Joshua Lyman' is still fresh and I can't help glowing.

We mingle our way to the buffet, accepting congratulations and well wishes as we go.

Sitting at the head table with us are the President and First Lady, along with our attendants. Josh is to my left; Dr. Bartlet is to my right, then CJ and so on. The President is to Josh's left with Sam and the groomsmen down the line.

Looking down my plate of food, I suddenly realize I'm not at all hungry.

Josh suddenly leans over and whispers, "Do you remember any part of earlier?"

"I was absolutely terrified and I have no idea why. That's all I remember," I admit. "What happened to your cummerbund, by the way?"

He fiddles with the food on his plate; he promised me he'd wear it. "It was uncomfortable."

"You're wearing the suspenders, aren't you?" I really don't mind; I just want to give him a hard time. I think he looks extremely sexy in the suspenders. Even though they really don't go with the white-tie tuxedo.

***

The natives have finished eating and are getting restless when Sam stands up. Taking the microphone from the DJ, he moves to stand behind Donna and I.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us this evening. I'm Sam Seaborn, I'll be your Master of Ceremonies."

Oh Lord. I knew I should have asked Toby to be my best man.

"I realize etiquette says I'm supposed to toast the bride at this point, but I'm going to give that responsibility to someone who is far better at these sorts of things than I am."

Sam pats me on the shoulder and bends down to whisper, "sorry, buddy," before he hands the microphone to President Bartlet and returns to his seat.

"I have to give some credit to Sam, he did offer to write me something, but I thought I'd just wing it." It sounds like he's only half-joking as he stands up and takes Sam's place.

The thunk is Toby's head hitting the table as he realizes what a disaster this could turn into.

***

From my staff's reaction, I get the impression they don't trust me to do this: Josh looks like he wants to disappear under the table and even Donna seems a bit skittish.

We won't talk about Toby.

"I'm sure most of you don't realize it is an absolute miracle we are here today. It's actually several miracles, I suppose. It's a miracle Donna walked away from everything here and drove to New Hampshire. It's a miracle Josh took a chance and hired her. It's a miracle we won, but I think the greatest miracle of all is that we survived and in doing so, gave love an opportunity to blossom."

I raise my glass. "Joshua, Donnatella, may your life together be filled with the joy and love only family can bring you."

***

Sam is a man in his element as he leads us through the cake cutting and then calls us to the dance floor. 

"What do you think they picked?"

I share Josh's misgivings. I had a nightmare last night that we ended up dancing to a bad 80's tune by Firehouse.

The DJ rescues his mike from Sam to introduce the song. "I've been told more than one person has concerns about Sam's musical judgment. Someone mentioned Chinese Opera. I don't know what that's about, but I know this isn't too bad a choice."

Josh wraps me in his arms as the eternally profound sounds of Billy Joel echo across the hardwood floor. I ditched my shoes at the dinner table because they were starting to pinch my swollen feet, a smart move that enables me to tuck my head against Josh's chest as we dance.

I don't consider "To Make You Feel My Love" a traditional wedding dance song, but listening to the lyrics, I decide it's perfect.

__

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true

Nothing that I would not do

Go to the ends of the earth for you

To make you feel my love

There is nothing that I wouldn't do

To make you feel my love.

***

"Fred Astaire, you are not," Mom comments.

We're in the midst of the mother/son' dance and it's taking all of my concentration to not step on her feet.

Distracted would be a good adjective to describe me right now. I feel like a show pony being put through my paces.

Mom frowns a bit when I don't answer her. "Something bothering you, Joshua?"

"I'm trying not to step on your feet," I try misdirection.

"Try again."

"It's just Sam's got everything planned. I don't know what's going on for sure and"

"For someone with a planning jinx, you are an unabashed control freak."

My mother has no issues with stepping all over my self-esteem. And she's psychic.

"Yeah."

"You're doing fine, Joshua. Except for the crappy dancing. Just keep doing what you're doing."

I get the feeling she's not just talking about tonight.

"I'll keep that in mind."

***

"Donna, if I didn't know better I'd swear that child belonged to Josh," Abbey Bartlet gestures towards Josh, who is holding Timmy and talking with my Uncle Mike. They really have bonded. Tim latched on to his Unca Joss as soon as Josh was done dancing with his mother and hasn't let go since.

"We decided he needed some hands-on experience before July," I grin mischievously behind my glass of cider. "He's doing better than any of us expected."

We share a laugh before the First Lady's concern gets the better of her. "How are you doing?"

"Pretty well. I'm not to the uncomfortable stage yet. I can still reach my feet," I point in their general direction.

"Swelling?"

"My feet," I admit. "Josh is about ready to go into the shoe wholesale business. He claims it would be cheaper."

"How much weight have you gained?" 

This must be how Josh feels when Dr. Griffith comes around. I know she means well, but I've been getting it from all sides this week: my mom, Josh's mom, my grandmother, my aunts and my sister... I don't like thinking about the mother hen act Josh has been doing when the mood strikes him. 

"Not as much as my OB wants," I hedge. I'm at 20 weeks; Dr. Williams refuses to freak out, yet.

Sensing she's delving into something I don't want to discuss tonight, Dr. Bartlet gives me one last look before turning back watch to Josh and Timmy, who are now engaged in a game of airplane' around the dance floor. "If you need someone to talk to, I'm always available."

***

The moment I thought would never arrive is finally here.

Tim is asleep.

Granted, he's drooling on my shoulder, but he is dead to the world. Just in time for the limbo competition CJ has spent the last thirty minutes organizing. 

Not that I have a chance of winning.

"Here, let me take him," Pat reaches for her son.

"Let's shove a couple of chairs together in a corner," I suggest.

It only takes us a couple of minutes to get him settled. I drape my jacket over his little body, figuring it's covered in his drool already.

Donna is holding up one end of the limbo pole, I stop for a kiss before joining the line.

"Here," she pulls my tie apart and undoes my top shirt button for me. "If you're going to do the Tony Bennett thing, at least do it right."

***

"Aunt Donna?"

Kelly is tugging at my dress, trying to get my attention. I'm making small talk with a group of Dad's colleagues.

"What do you need, sweetie?" I excuse myself and move off to the side to talk to my niece.

"What's knocked up?"

Josh picks now to arrive at my side.

"Where did you hear that?" he asks, sidestepping her question with one of his own.

Kelly looks up at Josh and scrunches her forehead, like she's trying to get the wording exactly right. "Uncle Carl told Great-Aunt Gertrude the only reason you married Aunt Donna is cause you got her knocked up."

Josh squats down in front of her and puts his hands on her arms. "Kelly, that's not why I married your Aunt Donna. I'm a Democrat; we don't have to do those kinds of things. I married your Aunt Donna because I love her very much and I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

I'm torn between being pissed at my Uncle Carl and crying at Josh's sincerity.

"Okay. But what's knocked up?" Kelly won't let go of it.

"Pregnant, sweetie," I explain, using a word I suddenly realize she likely won't comprehend.

"You're gonna have a baby?" Her blue eyes grow wide with amazement and she stares at my belly.

Or maybe she will.

***

Okay, I didn't know what pregnant' was when I was four; I thought babies came from the stork up until Dad explained things to me when I was about ten. Where the hell are kids learning this stuff these days?

"Will you have a girl, so I have someone to play with?" Kelly is looking at Donna with the most earnest expression.

"I don't get much say in it, honey." She leaves out the fact that Kelly lives in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin and we live in Washington, D.C., thereby automatically limiting playtime.

"Uncle Josh, I want it to be a girl!" Kelly turns to me, like I have some sort of mystical power to determine the gender of unborn children.

"Duly noted." I want it to be a girl, too, but as long as it's healthy — I'm a happy camper.

Having gotten her request in, Kelly scampers off to bug someone else.

***

"Excuse me!"

Sam has the DJ's mike again.

From the glare Donna is leveling at me, I assume she thinks I had something to do with this.

Like I have any more control over Sam than I do over the gender of our child.

Sam's gesturing for both of us to join him in the middle of the dance floor. 

"It's time for that age-old tradition. Yes, I'm talking about the dollar-dance. Now, a couple of things to consider: first, we all know Josh and Donna both work for the government and secondly, the Lyman family will be growing shortly. So, please, give freely." Sam pauses for the obligatory laughter. "Women to the left — you pay me. Men to the right — you pay CJ."

I hear Leo muttering something about a fundraising idea as he steps up to head Donna's line. 

Great-Aunt Gertrude battles her way to stand in front of Sam, waiting for the music to start.

***

"Congratulations." Leo is trying to not look totally saccharine as he offers me his hand.

"Thank you. For everything."

I'm trying really hard not to cry, but it's pretty difficult. Leo could have squashed what Josh and I have from the beginning.

"He's a son to me, Donna. I could never begrudge him happiness, not with all the things he's gone through. He spent his whole life looking for you. You two, you have what Elisa and Noah had and it's what Josh has always wanted. You know him better than he knows himself, but don't let him take your understanding for granted."

I'm speechless as Leo gives me a tight hug before surrendering me to Matt Skinner.

***

I survived a lecture on pre-martial sex from Great-Aunt Gertrude, the smell of Grandma Marjorie, my mother's comments about my dancing, Deb interrogating me about Fred's intended major and a seemingly endless stream of old ladies who dance worse than I do.

If I weren't making money off of this, I'd have strangled Sam by now.

Bowing Cheryl, Donna's third cousin, off the floor, I turn to face my next partner.

"You can't be serious." If looks could kill, Sam would be a pile of ash on the floor.

"Hey, he put a hundred bucks in the pot." My best man holds up the bill as if the price makes it okay.

"Check the picture. It's probably his." I grumble.

"I'll even let you lead," President Bartlet smirks at me.

"You'd really rather be dancing with Donna, sir," I inform him as we begin the world's most awkward waltz.

"It could be worse, Josh. It could be a tango. And I already danced with your wife."

"I'd prefer dancing with yours."

***

I can't help giggling at Josh's predicament. In fact, all dancing on my side of the floor screeches to a halt while we watch as my husband is forced to dance with a procession of guys who think they're funny.

The President, Matt Skinner, Ed, Larry, Dad, Fred and the Lord John Marbury.

Marbury is a riot; he keeps stepping on Josh's feet.

Sam is bent double, laughing so hard he's crying. It takes him a full minute to compose himself for the throwing of the bouquet.

"Donna, if my daughter catches that, I'm sending you to Iceland," the President calls, obviously having gotten into the mood of the evening.

I'm not sure if he's kidding or not.

I aim for Margaret just to be safe.

It lands in Elisa's hands.

Josh looks mortified.

Sam brings out a chair next and instructs me to sit. Josh kneels at my feet.

"No hands," Sam admonishes with a smirk.

At Josh's questioning glance, Sam clarifies. "You can hold her dress up, but not to take the garter off."

His lips are warm on my leg as he kisses his way up to the garter.

"Hand check!" CJ yells when Josh doesn't emerge in a timely fashion.

***

Bite me, CJ. You try taking a garter off without your hands in front of your boss and your wife's parents. Besides, I think this thing is a hundred years old and it smells faintly of Vick's Vapor-Rub.

"Sam?" I grab him before I launch the garter into the assembled crowd of bachelors.

"Yeah?"

"Donna and I can leave after this, right?" According to my watch it's almost 11 p.m.

Which means it's closer to midnight. No wedding reception should last five hours.

"Sure, buddy. The limo is outside," he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

I give him a brief hug and let him join the crowd.

Closing my eyes, I cock the garter back like a rubber band and fling it.

Oh, no.

***

He hit Leo right smack in the face.

And I thought he looked horrified when Elisa caught my bouquet.

It doesn't surprise me when he then grabs my hand and whisks me towards the door. 

"Sam said we're clear to go," he explains. We stop to collect my shoes and Josh's jacket and wave before beating a path to the waiting limo.

The fun and frivolity CJ and Sam put into the reception did not, thankfully, extend to decorating a Presidential limo with Just Married' signs or filling the interior with condoms, balloons, toilet paper, shaving cream, KY jelly or anything juvenile like that.

Josh and the driver exchange nods before we climb into the back.

"Where are we staying tonight?" I ask, curling up on the seat next to my husband.

"It's a surprise," he murmurs, absently fiddling with a stray lock of my hair.

Now he's piqued my curiosity. I have to bite my tongue when I feel the limo turn onto a gravel road.

The route we're taking feels vaguely familiar, even though I can't see where we are in the darkness.

"Josh?" I give my voice a whining note.

He waits to answer me until the limo stops.

Lifting his head from the back of the seat, he opens his eyes and takes my hand. "What would you say if I told you we were going to honeymoon at home?"

"I'd say your planning skills suck."

He taps on the window twice and the door opens. Getting out, I look around in confusion at Grandpa Moss's farm.

"What are we doing here? Josh, the family sold this place. The buyer signed the papers on Thursday."

He takes my hand and leads me up to the front door. Pulling a set of keys from his trousers, he unlocks the door and unceremoniously sweeps me off my feet.

"You're going to throw your back out." I tease him, despite my continued lack of understanding.

***

"You're not heavy." I admonish, carrying her into the kitchen before setting her down.

"Explain," Donna demands, the instant she's back on her feet.

Words seem inadequate, so I hand her the gift I left on the counter when we were here Friday morning.

"Dilbert?" she scoffs a bit, mocking my choice of packaging.

I shrug. I didn't have time to rewrap it, so I left it in the comics Toby had it in.

"What is this?" She turns the wooden plaque over in her hands, softly running her fingers over the carved Hebrew words.

"It's a ketubah, a marriage covenant. It's my pledge to provide for you and our children." I wrap my hands around hers. "My pledge to provide a home, food, the necessities of life and to love you, to honor you, to cherish what we have built together."

***

As Josh whispers his litany, what he's saying begins to sink in. His pledge to provide a home, his mysterious question about honeymooning at home — they click together in my brain.

I lift my eyes from the oak plaque in our hands. Everything around me is blurry through my tears; even my voice wavers. "You bought the farm."

Josh simply nods, wiping a stray tear from my face with his thumb. "Technically, one of the trusts did. I bought it from the trust at a really good interest rate."

"I thought, I thought" I stumble over my words and my sobs.

"Shh. Donna, don't cry, baby," Josh croons, setting the plaque back on the counter before wrapping his arms around me.

"What happened to Congress?" I finally choke out. Between my tears and Timmy's dried drool, Josh's jacket is a mess.

"It's still there, Toby hasn't figured out a way to abolish it yet," he jokes before turning serious. "I'm still going to run. We've got a couple of years to sort everything out. Maybe the farm is just a vacation home, someplace to stay when we visit your parents at Christmas or maybe I run for Wisconsin's 2nd District."

***

Donna stops crying long enough to snort at me. 

"Carpetbagger," she snickers.

"What? I met a beautiful Cheesehead in Washington who convinced me to give up my Connecticut Yankee heritage and relocate to America's Dairy Land," I offer some lame campaign rhetoric.

"Because you know so much about cows and dairy farming, Josh."

"You'll teach me."

Brushing a loose hair from her face, I lean in to kiss her.

***

It's like the first time he ever kissed me, that night in the ice cream parlor: soft and searching. Some sort of magical innocence pervades the moonlight bathing the kitchen. Looking out the window, I can see it start to snow: large, heavy flakes drifting through the still air to the ground.

Josh finally breaks the kiss and takes my hands without a word, leading me up the stairs to the master bedroom.

My eyes widen in disbelief at the scene before me. It's a Pottery Barn showroom. A king-sized, pewter-colored metal bed flanked by dark-wood shelving units for nightstands. All of the furniture is in the same wood as the nightstands and it matches the mahogany hardwood floors.

The bed is covered in a beige gingham comforter with an overabundance of coordinating pillows.

"You just picked a room off the web page, didn't you?" It's too perfect.

He looks down at his feet. "Not entirely."

***

Donna's sniffling again, but she nods at my questioning glance. I release the breath I've been unconsciously holding at her approval.

Moving behind her, I begin to undo the plethora of buttons. Each one exposes a tiny bit of alabaster skin demanding to be kissed. Finally reaching the last button, I run my hands under the dress and over her stomach.

Resting my hands there, I pause to just hold her, contemplating the quiet of our new home.

***

I lean back against Josh's chest and set my hands on top of his, the silk of my dress the only thing between us. Closing my eyes, I take the time to simply enjoy the silence of our surroundings and the comfort of Josh's arms.

"What was that?"

"That was the bear," I tell him, marveling at the increased activity in my body.

His response is to lead me to the bed. I sit on the edge and Josh kneels in front of me, returning his hands to my stomach.

"Hey, kiddo. You're up, huh?" Josh leans in close, whispering to the bear. He likes to talk to the kid, most mornings I wake up to him resting his head on my thighs reading position papers or the Washington Post.

Josh is very, very weird sometimes.

"Mommy and Daddy are going to You know, maybe this is a conversation we'll save til later. When you're like fifty or something. Suffice to say you just close your little ears for a while and go back to sleep. Mommy and Daddy are going to practice making you a sibling."

My husband is a sap.

Raising the hem of my wedding dress, Josh repeats the kissing routine from the garter removal. This time, however, he doesn't stop at the top of my stockings. He lingers at the exposed skin of my inner thighs, nuzzling his lips into the more sensitive places.

"Josh," I moan, running my hands over my breasts. I need him where he is, but I want his touch everywhere. 

***

Sweaty and spent, we remain as we are, trying to catch our breath.

"There goes the annulment," Josh finally jokes.

I don't have the energy to remind him he's Jewish and I'm Lutheran and I'm pretty sure an annulment wouldn't be possible anyway.

***

I reach down and pull the covers up around us. Despite having the heat cranked, there's still a chill in the air. Donna props herself up on a mound of pillows, inviting me to curl around her. Resting my head on her shoulder, I tuck one arm under her neck and use my other hand to rub her extended tummy. 

This is something I doubt I will ever tire of.

I'm not even sure why it fascinates me so much, the thought of a tiny person growing inside of my wife.

When Donna's breathing evens out, I feel the little bear begin to kick again.

Our kid strikes a pretty decent beat for a fetus.

"What's it feel like?"

I don't even know where that question came from, but suddenly I really want to know.

"Like somebody kicking you," Donna laughs, giving me a non-answer.

"Okay, cause I've got that scene from Alien' stuck in my head. You know - where the alien rips open the guy's stomach? Actually, it's the parody from Spaceballs.' Where it jumps out and starts singing show tunes"

"Josh." Donna's groan has nothing to do with pleasure this time.

***

The bear is up for almost an hour, entertaining Josh and keeping me from sleeping. It finally stops kicking when Josh sticks his head under the covers and starts talking to it about the upcoming baseball season and how the Mets are going to make the playoffs this year. I think I heard something about a trip to the World Series, but I may have been hallucinating.


	22. The Subtle Science of ReGifting

**__**

Sunday, March 3, 2003 — 5 a.m.

The world is dark and completely silent when I open my eyes. It takes a second to figure out what woke me: the bear is awake again and squirming.

This baby is as restless as its father and we're only halfway there. Only since last night have the bear's activities been very noticeable. I've been feeling some faint fluttering movement for a few weeks, but it hasn't been frequent or distracting.

This new development is going to take some getting used to.

Frost coats the windows, but I can see the snow is still gently falling. I wiggle deeper into Josh's warm embrace, grateful for the flannel sheets and down comforter he picked out for the king-sized bed.

"Good morning," his scratchy voice whispers in my ear.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," he sighs contentedly, tightening his grip on me. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Your bear is up." 

Let's establish this right now. When this child is good, it is mine — when it is misbehaving, or causing me grief, it is my husband's.

The eagerness with which Josh slides his hand to my abdomen makes me smile. Almost on cue, the bear kicks for him.

"Cool!"

"Yeah," I tease. "It isn't kicking and keeping you awake."

Josh's splayed fingers caress my taut skin and his next remark is obviously directed at the baby. "Hey, you're keeping your Mommy awake."

The bear's response is another kick.

"I've got a solution for this," Josh murmurs.

***

Standing at the kitchen window watching it snow and sipping decaf hot chocolate, I decide one of the things I miss about Wisconsin is having a huge yard and being able to go outside to play in the fresh snow. 

When we were little, Pat and I would make snow angels and snowmen. I smile into my mug at the memories of getting up at the crack of dawn to run around the yard making the first footprints in the virgin blanket of white, fluffy wetness. After Freddy was old enough, we'd take him along and pelt him with snowballs. He would go running for his friends and a neighborhood-wide battle would rage for hours.

I want my kids to have that.

The shuffle of feet alerts me to Josh's approach. He puts his arms around me and rests his chin on my shoulder.

"Good morning," I whisper.

"The bear wake you up again?"

I sip my cocoa and nod. "About twenty minutes ago. I needed to get up soon anyway. We're due at the house at nine."

"What for?"

"People bought us gifts. We need to open them."

"No shit?" Josh sounds amazed. "People bought us stuff? What kind of stuff?"

"Stuff you can use to cook dinner tonight with any kind of luck."

"Kitchen stuff?" His amazement morphs into excitement.

"And towels probably." 

I registered us a couple of places so Mom didn't have to field a thousand phone calls about what to get us. My older relatives would have taken it as a personal affront if we told them we didn't want or need any gifts.

I'm glad I did now. The farmhouse is pretty barren. Not that Josh didn't do a respectable job of furnishing the rooms he did, but it needs work. A woman cannot decorate by Pottery Barn alone.

"Once we see what we get, we'll know what we need to buy for the house," I muse.

***

More shopping Great.

Glad Mom will file the paperwork on the trust fund Tuesday.

Looking out the window at the snow-covered fields, I decide I don't want to think about trust funds or shopping or gifts.

I want to be naked with Donna.

Bending down, I scoop her into my arms.

"Josh! Put me down!" 

"Nope." I reply, carrying her upstairs to the master bathroom.

Sitting her on the vanity, I run hot water into the cast-iron tub and add some girly bath salts I threw in my stuff on a whim when I packed.

Letting the tub fill, I turn back to Donna. She's wearing one of my old t-shirts. Sliding my hands under the hem, I discover nothing else.

She touches her lips to mine, swirling her tongue around my mouth. I finally break our contact when the tub is full enough. Donna pulls the t-shirt over her head while I shed my boxers and then we climb into the warm water together.

***

It feels so good to just relax. I'm beginning to think Josh has fallen asleep yet again when out of the blue he asks me one of his increasingly weird questions.

"What does it feel like?"

"What does what feel like?"

"Being pregnant." He has his arms wrapped around me with his hands resting on my stomach. 

May I present Joshua Lyman, over-protective father-to-be and general freak?

"It's hard to describe. Especially when it moves. Otherwise, I feel pretty normal." I finally admit. "I'm hungry all the time, though."

He chuckles a bit. "This I've noticed. It's like living with Ainsley Hayes."

"What else do you notice?" I tease him, digging an elbow into his ribs.

"You change moods faster than you change conversation topics," he quips.

I'd be offended if it weren't true.

"And?" I'm curious now. Josh seems to be more tuned into this than I am.

He bends his head forward to kiss my collarbone. "You're constantly horny."

"That is the worst pickup line you've ever used." I giggle.

"The water is getting cold." His hands have migrated up to my breasts.

"Just as bad," I inform him, crawling out of the tub.

***

"Donna!" 

She puts her robe on and heads into the bedroom, leaving me sitting in the tub alone, with an aroused Spongebob.

I pull the plug and scramble out of the bubbles into the bedroom.

"We're going to be late, Josh." Donna's sitting on the bed going through her bags, looking for clothes. CJ and Sam arranged getting our stuff here as part of their responsibilities as maid of honor and best man.

I can only stand in the middle of the room, dripping wet, and gape at her.

"Get dried off and dressed," she orders, ignoring the obvious evidence of my desire to inaugurate the bathroom.

I shrug. I liked my idea better, but marriage is about compromise, right? 

***

"Bitchin'!" Josh is ogling the Heavy-Duty Kitchen Aid Mega Mixer he just unwrapped.

It's from my grandparents, who are here, at my parents' house, along with majority of my family and Josh's mom. The President and everyone from work went back to Washington after the reception last night.

Fred isn't here either, I sent him on a super-top secret mission.

"See, Timmy, its got a dough hook and an egg-beater." He points out the cooler parts of the mixer to the little boy sitting in his lap.

"You cook, Josh?" Grandma asks, skeptically. 

"Better than I do," I answer for him.

"He bakes, too," Elisa offers from the other side of the living room. "Although I'm still trying to figure out where you learned that."

"You're leaving tonight for your honeymoon, then?" Aunt Katie pries.

They've been trying to weasel the honeymoon details out of him for a week.

Josh looks up at me from the box of everyday dishes he opened. "We're going to honeymoon at home."

"You're going back to DC?" Mom narrows her eyes at us both.

That's when I realize they don't know about the farm.

"No, I bought a place here, just outside of Madison," Josh begins. "As a wedding gift for Donna."

Dad's jaw hits the floor. "You bought a house? Here?"

"Well, I closed on something a little more substantial than just a house. You could call it a farm, I guess. The land has been rented out for years, though."

There's nothing Josh hates more than talking about his money.

"Where?"

Mothers are psychic, don't ever think they aren't. Mom has it figured out.

"Northwest of town," Josh fesses up.

"David and Eileen's place."

***

Watch World War III erupt in my living room. 

Carl and Katie wanted the place, but didn't want to pay what the appraiser said it was worth. They thought if it sat on the market long enough Paul and John would agree to bring the price down.

Josh bought it out from under them. 

And Katie signed off on it.

I look at my son-in-law with a new sense of respect. I don't pretend to understand what he does for a living, but this was brilliant.

Sneaky, but brilliant.

"Wait a minute," Paul looks confused.

I shake my head at my husband, trying to subtly tell him to drop it.

"Can I talk to you in the kitchen?" He jerks his head that way, biting back what he was going to say.

***

I hand Tim off to Pat and follow Paul into the other room.

"You bought my parents place?" he scowls at me.

Maybe I should have brought Tim with me, as a human shield.

I nod. "Yes, sir."

My father-in-law looks dumbfounded. "Why?"

"Because Donna told me you all wanted it to stay in the family," I shrug. "And because I want my kids to not grow up only living in the city. My grandfather used to say it was a shame my sister and I never got to spend time in the country."

"Can you afford this?" 

The seriousness of his delivery almost makes me laugh.

"Yeah. I can afford it."

"Seriously, Josh. If you can't, we can rescind the contract."

He's very worried about my financial well being.

"Paul, I've got some money stashed away. We're fine. The kids will be fine," I pause to let it sink in. "The great-great-grandkids will be fine."

"How much money?"

"Grandfather left his entire estate to me when he died 25 years ago and my dad left me most of his," I hedge.

"Stop beating around the bush and just tell me." Paul's starting to sound exasperated.

"A lot. I don't even know the exact total. I have ownership of two of the trusts and that's almost all in blind investments. I get the third one as soon as my mother and the accountant file the paperwork. The money for the farm is coming out of it, what's left gets tossed in with the others."

"But it won't drain it?"

"No."

"I get the impression there's more?"

"One more. It will be turned over on the birth of my first child."

"What did your grandfather do?"

"He was a jeweler." I tell him the truth, just not the whole story, while glancing out the window at the falling snow. I don't feel like talking about it today.

***

Josh shifts his gaze from the snow to me. The hard look in his eyes eliminates any other questions I wanted answers to.

"Money isn't a problem," he continues. "But I'd just as soon the entire family not know. It makes a lot of people uncomfortable. We live on our combined salaries and keep the trust money for larger stuff. Like when Donna redecorated our apartment last summer."

All I can do is agree. I'll tell Deb about it, but I have a gut feeling it won't surprise her.

***

It appears they've settled everything when Josh and Dad come out of the kitchen.

Uncle Carl is still spoiling for a fight, but Aunt Katie actually told him to shut up and stop being an ass a few minutes ago.

It floored me, too.

Josh sits back down on the floor and leans up against the couch between my legs.

"What's next?" he asks.

I laugh and drop a squishy package on his head.

Ripping the paper off it, he holds up a bunch of decorative hand towels. "What are these? And why are there twenty of them in here?"

***

We're just finishing up when Carl finally can't take it anymore.

"Where in the hell did you get enough money to buy that farm?" he demands.

"Carl!" Katie just glares at him.

"It's none of your business," I reply. Donna's hand on my shoulder is the only thing preventing me from laying into this asshole. "The purchase contract is signed. If you wanted the place so bad, you should have bought it. I let the damn thing sit on the market for over a month. If you weren't so damn cheap, the place would have been yours."

Okay, so maybe I laid into him a little bit. 

From the muffled laughed filtering around, I doubt anyone minds.

***

We spend the rest of the day writing Thank You cards. Fred and Josh are loading everything into the rental car when Dad slips his arm around me.

"Everything okay?" I ask, resting my head on his shoulder.

"Yeah. I wish I'd known before, but" he trails off and shrugs.

"He's uncomfortable talking about the money, Daddy. I didn't know until after he proposed." I feel the need to explain a little more.

"Fred said he put it in the garage," Dad changes the subject on me.

Josh isn't the only one with secret wedding schemes.

"You can come out to the house tomorrow and see it," I kiss his cheek and get into the car.

The drive home passes in comfortable silence. Once there, we start carrying everything inside.

"What's the deal with hand towels?" he asks, hauling the last load of stuff into the house.

"Why?" 

There's a story about the hand towels. I'll admit it. It started years ago and they've been re-gifted at every family wedding for the past who-knows-how-long. Each couple adds a new, ugly towel and passes it on to the next sorry sucker.

"Decorative hand towels, Donnatella?" Josh raises his eyebrows at me. "Three of them look older than me."

I explain the Moss Family tradition of hand towel re-gifting while he organizes the kitchen.

"Okay, I get that part," his muffled voice issues from inside a cabinet where he's stashing his Heavy-Duty Kitchen Aid Mega Mixer. "But there was an entire other package of them. And they were lemon yellow with red roses."

"Those were just a bad gift idea from Great-Aunt Gertrude," I admit, gathering our coats off the counter.

"Exactly what do we do with those fifteen decorative hand towels, Donna?" Josh emerges from the cabinet, his hair sticking every direction.

"Give them to Margaret for Christmas next year," I suggest as I help him up.

***

"Come out to the shed with me." Donna hands me my jacket.

"It's cold outside, Donna." I just want to fix dinner for us and go back to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a long day shopping for house stuff.

"Joshua." 

I sigh and shrug my coat on before following her out the door.

***

The gift I got for Josh is not entirely altruistic on my part. Let me explain the situation this way, we currently own one car: an Audi convertible with two seats; and we're having a baby.

You do the math.

"Donna?"

We're standing in the door to the garage looking at my gift to Josh.

"Yes?"

"There is a '64 Mustang convertible in the garage," he's gaping at the car.

"Yes, there is."

"It's in mint condition." Awe fills his voice.

"Yes, it is."

I've been saving money hand over fist since I moved in with Josh last August. After the Convention and our little road trip, I called Dad. Dad works with a guy who is a classic car buff. He found the body at a junkyard and completely rebuilt it. Fred delivered it for me this afternoon during the hand towel re-gifting.

"Donna?"

"You got me a farm, I got you a classic convertible," I shrug.

"I have to trade in the Audi, don't I?"

Who said my husband wasn't quick?

"Yep."

"We're driving home?"

"Nope."

"How are we getting the car to DC?"

***

Donna has this little smirk on her face. She kicks my ass in the planning department — have I mentioned that lately?

"Fred has spring break in a couple of weeks. He and Pat are going to drive it out," she tells me.

I open the door and slip into the driver's seat.

The car isn't exactly to original specs. The body is cherry red with a white ragtop. The interior is white, except instead of vinyl, the seats are leather. The dash looks original at first glance, but on closer inspection, everything is digital. The AM/FM radio has been replaced with a Bose digital stereo/CD system.

"Wow." I'm floored she went to this kind of trouble for me.

"You like it?" Donna asks, hitching her hip against the door.

"I do. Thank you, Donna." I start to pull her into my lap before I decide having sex in the Mustang is a logistical impossibility.

She apparently decides the same thing, because she pulls back and I get up out of the car.

"Make me dinner," Donna smiles at me. "Then we'll practice making Bear a cub.

Tightening my grip on her hand, I bring it to my lips. 

"Every night. Forever," I promise.


	23. March Madness

"Hampton or Kansas?" Donna calls from her desk.

"A 16 seed has never beaten a number 1 in the first round," I yell back. 

I'm hunched over my desk, trying to discern which 15-seed will be this year's Cinderella. As much as I'd like to go with Harvard, which miraculously discovered it had a basketball team this year, I'm thinking McNeese State might be able to dump the East's 2-seed, Duke.

Despite Sam's contention they're going all the way this year.

"Duke all the way, baby!" 

Speak of the devil and he appears, reciting his mantra.

I grab the bracket sheet off my desk and head down the hall to Senior Staff with Sam. Maybe I'll pick two upsets.

"Gonzaga or Tulsa?" Donna calls after us.

Sam and I grin at each other before chorusing, "Gonzaga!"

This is the first year Donna has participated the White House NCAA Tournament Pool and she knows as much about basketball as she does football. Brackets are due by 5 p.m. today; everyone is scrambling to play catch up on a season none of us have been paying attention to.

***

The questions about basketball are a ruse; Fred gave me a copy of his picks before we left Wisconsin yesterday. 

I figure if I ask Josh A' or B' questions long enough, I can slip in a Caravan' or Venture' and get him to accidentally commit to a minivan.

"Who are you picking?" Ginger comes up studying a copy of _Sports Illustrated_ she stole from Ed.

"Arizona and do you notice we never do this for the women's tournament?" I pull my stash of carrots from the drawer to munch on.

"Actually the guys do." Bonnie has drifted over as well. "Charlie runs it. The President has won four years running."

"Why isn't it a big deal like this one," I point at Ginger's half-filled in sheet.

"Because it's either Connecticut or Tennessee every year. The only challenge is in figuring out who's going to win in the first two rounds," she finishes.

***

"Welcome back, Josh," Leo grabs my piece of paper. "Why am I not seeing Michigan on here anywhere?"

"Because they banned themselves from the post-season this year," Toby's still got the superiority thing going on because he won last year's pool.

"I'd take Oklahoma then," Leo says, surveying the pairings.

We're filing into the Oval Office, heading for our usual places.

"Over Arizona?" Sam asks.

"Never count out Notre Dame," President Bartlet advises. "Evidently, we should never count out Congress either. Toby, why was Brent Mitchell on TV last night bitching about Social Security reform? I thought that SOB was on our side."

In the end, Toby gets ordered up to the Hill to put the smack down on Mitchell. 

I have to stay here for a series of meetings with Leo, the President and Admiral Fitzwallace.

***

Margaret summons me to Leo's office about the time Josh should be getting back from Senior Staff.

She doesn't give me any hint. "Just bring Josh's schedule. He's waiting."

"Go on in," she says, giving me an encouraging smile.

I catch a glimpse of Josh through the open door to the Oval Office. He's talking with Admiral Fitzwallace and Nancy McNally. As Leo shuts the door, Josh flashes me thumbs up.

"Have a seat, Donna," Leo unbuttons his jacket and settles into his chair. "I'm sure you're curious about what's going on. Let me just get this out there — we want to promote you."

"Me?" I ask, more than slightly confused. He's joking.

"The plan is to shift a significant portion of Josh's domestic workload to you. You already write policy memos and position papers. The only difference is you'll be signing and presenting them."

"Me?" I repeat, more confused than ever.

"You'll get a new title, as soon as we think one up, a raise, an office, an assistant of your own"

"What about Josh?" I interrupt.

"He's going to mentor you. Take care of smacking people down if you aren't comfortable doing it, TV appearances if you don't want to do them. Stuff like that." Leo looks up from the papers he's been shuffling when I don't respond. "He'll be alright without you running his office, Donna. You'll still be working together. Talk to him if you aren't sure, but I need an answer tomorrow morning."

"What about this summer?" The question is prompted by a swift kick from the bear.

"This summer?" Leo stares at me blankly.

I blush furiously as I gesture to my stomach.

"Oh. Right. We'll figure it out when the time comes."

My emotions suddenly get the better of me, forcing me to blink back tears. I don't know if this is what I really want. I like what I'm doing now.

"Go over Josh's schedule with Margaret. She'll help you figure out what you'll take over and what Josh will need to keep handling."

He obviously means for me to go, but I just sit for a minute and try to comprehend what just happened.

"Get out of my office," he finishes gruffly, tempering it with a genuine smile.

After Margaret and I go over Josh's schedule, I head back to the Operations bullpen going over and over in my mind what Leo said.

My misgivings get the better of me when I take a break for dinner around six.

Grabbing a salad from the Mess, I sequester myself in Josh's office to try and figure out why on earth anyone would think I'm qualified to take over parts of Josh's job.

***

Dragging back to my office at almost 8:30, my head crammed full of national security information, I find Donna curled up in my chair with tears running down her cheeks. She's looking out the window onto the South Lawn.

We've been out of the office for almost 12 days and my workload is astronomical, but this scene indicates I will get nothing else done tonight. I figured Donna would jump at the chance for a promotion, to take a more overt role in the administration.

Picking up her coat from her desk, I knock softly on the doorframe to get her attention.

"Let's go," I offer.

I know she can do what Leo's asking of her; she's always said she can do my job better than I can.

It pisses me off that she doesn't have the same confidence in herself.

***

The drive home is uncomfortable and silent. Once inside, the only thing Josh asks is what I want for dinner.

He sighs when I tell him I don't care.

Which leads to our present situation: us eating spaghetti at the unnaturally quiet kitchen table.

"I can't do it, Josh," I finally tell him, picking at my pasta.

I can feel his eyes on me, but I can't bring myself to meet them.

"Donna," his voice is filled with exasperation. "Leo is giving you a great opportunity. This is something you can do. You do most of it already."

"I can't," I insist, still studying my uneaten dinner.

"Why not?" Josh demands. 

I hear him stand up and put his plate in the dishwasher.

"Do you think I want to be doing what I'm doing? I'm no more qualified to weigh in on national security than I am to be a plumber. I'm doing it anyway, to the best of my ability, because it's what the President is asking me to do." Josh pauses briefly, his words no less harsh when he continues, "You need to eat something."

Still sitting in the kitchen, I can hear him change clothes and stalk back into the living room with his backpack.

Dumping the spaghetti into the trash, the wave of self-pity I've been wrapped in recedes, leaving me pissed at Josh for not caring about what I want, or don't want, to do professionally.

I decide a hot bath is definitely in order.

***

Donna standing in front of me, bringing the death glare pulls my attention away from a report detailing the different stages of military readiness.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might want to stay home after the baby was born?" she snarls.

Evidently, her bath didn't help.

"No, it didn't," I refuse to look up. The stay-at-home' thing is an option I am more than willing to revisit under any other circumstance, but I am not going there tonight.

"Did it occur to you to ask?"

"No, it didn't," I look up to see her blue eyes flashing.

"Maybe it should have!"

"Maybe it didn't because you told me you wanted to go back to work. Remember? The conversation we had to have about our future? So neither of us would be surprised when we got to this point?" I hurl back, feeling my own temper reach its breaking point.

"Maybe I changed my mind. You like those damn reports so much, you can sleep out here with them, because you sure as hell aren't sleeping with me," she yells, turning on her heel and slamming the bedroom door shut.  


There's nothing I can say or do to make this better right now.

***

Curling up on the bed, I begin sobbing uncontrollably into a pillow.

A little after 2 a.m., I wake up, still alone. 

Josh has been in the room. He got me undressed and under the covers, without waking me up. 

Those tiny gestures make me feel extremely guilty, even though I'm determined to be pissed at him for being insensitive.

I get up and go pee. Sitting on the toilet, my eyes fall on a picture hanging on the wall by the door. Sam took it with one of those stupid disposable cameras. I have no idea when it was taken and I had always wondered why Josh put it in the bathroom of all places.

He told me he did his best thinking while shaving sometimes and the picture reminded him to consider alternative points of view.

It's of me giving him hell over a welfare reform proposal. What I never noticed before was the look of absolute pride in Josh's eyes as I ripped his idea to shreds.

His disillusioned why not' suddenly echoes through my mind and I can't come up with even one good reason.

Getting up, I head for the living room.

***

I've been staring at this damn thing for four hours and I'm no closer to understanding the differences between an M1A2 Abrams main battle tank and a M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicle than I was yesterday.

Mostly because I'm trying to figure out how to fix this mess I've made with Donna. I can't help being frustrated at her unwillingness to even consider making this move.

Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the sofa. I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm the conflicting feelings of guilt at being an inconsiderate ass and the frustration I feel towards my wife.

"Hi."

Donna sits down next to me.

"Hi," I answer without moving.

"Can we talk?"

I bite back three sarcastic responses before settling on a simple, "Sure."

"You're upset."

"I'm disappointed," I clarify.

"Josh, will you please look at me?"

I can't stop the sigh from escaping, but I do pull my head up and open my eyes.

She's been crying and I have no defense for that.

***

"I don't want to fight with you about this," I begin.

"I don't want to fight with you at all," Josh interrupts.

"I'm sorry."

It's a chorus, his voice and mine, apologizing.

***

Donna's vivid, blue eyes shine with insecurity; an uncertainty I helped put there.

I reach for her hand, running my thumb across her palm while struggling for the words which have eluded me all night; the words to help make this thing between us right.

"I just I have so much faith in you. I hate to see you not even try."

"I'm scared," her voice quivers and the tears start fresh. "I'm not you, Josh. I can't be you."

"Donna" I pull her to my chest and hold her while she sniffles. "You aren't supposed to be me, you're supposed to be you. You're who the President wants."

"What if I mess up?"

***

"Like the rest of us haven't?" Josh jokes. "Come on, Donna, you're talking to the man who single-handily fucked up the tobacco thing."

He does succeed in getting me to smile a bit.

"You really think I can do this?" I whisper.

Josh doesn't even hesitate. "Without a doubt."

"Are we okay?" I ask after a few minutes of him quietly stroking my hair.

"Of course we are," he whispers.

"Can we have make-up sex?" I rub my hand against the stubble on his cheek, turning his head so I can kiss him.

"Raucous," kiss, "wake-up the neighbors," kiss, "make-up sex?" he teases, kissing his way along my jaw line.

I tilt my head back, giving him access to my neck. "Mm hmm."

***

I hate fighting with Donna, but I'm all for make-up sex.

"Do you need to pee?" I mumble, still kissing her neck and allowing my hands to roam up under her T-shirt.

More than one moment of passion has been interrupted by Donna's need to pee lately. I've decided to start checking before we even get started.

"No, I'm good."

We shift on the sofa so Donna is partial under me. Hiking her shirt up, I replace my hands with my lips.

She moans as I take her breast into my mouth, swirling my tongue around its peaked nipple, biting at it before changing sides.

Donna presses her hips upwards, encouraging me to pay some attention to Squarepants. Sliding off the sofa, I kneel beside her, tracing her lips with my thumb and slipping the other hand between her thighs while continuing to kiss my way around her body.

"Hey!" I stop short.

"What?" Donna grouses.

"It turned outie!" I poke at her belly button. I swear it was an innie this morning in the shower. 

Okay, yesterday morning.

Still.

"Is it supposed to do that?" I continue to play with it until Donna reaches down and smacks my hand.

"Yes and aren't you supposed to be doing something?"

"You mean this?" I lean forward and kiss to the aforementioned belly button, my hand resuming its exploration of Squarepants.

"Much better."

***

"We should go to bed," I yawn after we've finished. 

"Wanna just stay up all night and have more make-up sex?" Donna giggles, getting up and giving Spongebob a little pat on the head.

My wife is every man's fantasy come to life.

***

I laugh out loud at the look on Josh's face. Sort of a cross between I'm too tired to consider moving' and I wanna have sex all night.'

In the end, the sex wins because he scrambles to his feet and grabs me by the hand, leading me to bed.

***

"How's Donna?" Sam asks, luxuriating in his prime real estate.

The stars are in some sort of weird alignment; he and I are the first ones to Senior Staff this morning. 

Translate that into: he and I got the comfortable sofa.

"Why?"

"She just looked miserable when you were leaving last night."

"We had a fight last night," I admit.

Only to be smacked over the head with a file folder and a videotape by CJ, "You haven't even been married a week! What did you do?"

"I stuck up for her self-esteem!"

"You were an ass about it, weren't you?" CJ suddenly grabs my chin and jerks my head to the left. "Wait a minute. What's this?"

"You know the best thing about fighting with Donna?"

***

A self-satisfied smirk has spread across Josh's entire face. Whatever the fight was, it must not have lasted long.

"No, mi amour, please enlighten us all." My gesture includes the President, Leo and Toby. I mostly just want to hear him say make-up sex' in front of President Bartlet.

"Make-up sex."

He does.

"Nice hickey, Josh. Donna's on board?" Leo takes a wing chair opposite Frick and Frack.

"Yeah. She was worried about making mistakes"

"I keep you around," the President mutters loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Yes, sir. I reminded her of that. It seemed to do the trick."

"Which trick? Taking the job or instigating make-up sex?" Toby is sitting next to me pulling at his beard.

"Both."

"All right, let's get down to the real business of the day," Bartlet ends the dissection of the Lymans' sexual adventures by opening a folder. He studies a piece of paper, then looks up. "There is a tip-off party tonight in the Residence starting at 7:30. Ed and Larry will be providing live pool updates as the evening progresses. Toby, I see you've picked Kansas State in the women's tournament pool. Are you insane?"

***

I'm lounging on Josh's lap, witnessing the decimation of Sam's beloved Blue Devils.

Much to Josh's joy.

Which is why I'm holding him down.

CJ pulled me aside when we got up here and asked me to please try and keep the peace. Sam is in the kitchen commiserating with the Bracket-Masters, Ed and Larry. He's trying to determine if there's any way he can win, since he picked Duke all the way to the semi-finals.

"Give it up, Sam the Man! You are out of the contention on the first day!" Josh yells when the final buzzer sounds and Duke is eliminated by McNeese State. I slap my hand over his mouth before he can continue the trash talk. 

I'd do something more tried and true, but this is the White House.

"Mr. President?" Larry sticks his head into the room.

"What's the tally?"

"Keeping in mind there are three more games to finish tonight, Josh and Toby are tied for second and Donna is in the lead."

***

Sixteen games down, two major upsets, a few minor ones and Donna, of all people, is still leading the pool.

She and her husband are spooned together on one of the sofas, both of them dead to the world. Josh has his back to the cushions, his head tucked in the crook of Donna's neck which is supported by his arm. His other arm is wrapped around her, his hand resting possessively on her stomach.

It's sickeningly sweet.

It's also 2 o'clock in the morning. Everyone else has gone home for the evening.

"Just leave them be, Jed." Abbey tosses a blanket over them.

Donna stirs a bit; opening her eyes just enough to see me motion her to not worry about it. I get a sleepy smile before she nods back off.

"You're going to tease him about this mercilessly, right?"

"Without a doubt." I take Abbey's hand and we head for our bedroom.

***

"I cannot believe we fell asleep on the President's couch," Donna repeats for the seventy-third time this morning.

"How are you doing today, Donna?" Dr. Williams enters the exam room before I can tell her to stop worrying about it.

Again.

***

I had scheduled this appointment before I left for London; not even realizing it was going to fall during our honeymoon, which got cut short. 

Then I forgot about it until I got the reminder call off the answering machine this morning when we went home to change clothes.

I thought it was next Friday.

"I'm still hungry all the time," I answer.

Dr. Williams laughs, pulling out her tape and taking her measurements. She's frowning by the time she's done, though.

"For somebody who's hungry all the time, you still aren't gaining weight like you should be. Only a pound and a half since your last visit, seven and a half pounds total."

Josh squeezes my hand reassuringly, but remains quiet as we go through the rest of the regular tests and stuff. 

"Let's do another ultrasound and make sure everything's still okay in there. With some luck, we'll be able to determine a sex."

We all breathe a bit easier when everything appears normal, but small.

***

It's still a bear. We got a great view of the kid's butt.

At least that's what Dr. Williams claimed it was.

I think she makes half this stuff up.

I also think it's time to start car shopping.

Donna's starting to have trouble getting in and out of the Audi, despite only gaining seven and a half pounds. I've been dreading this conversation since Pat tipped me off.

She caught Donna perusing the Consumer Reports automotive issue.

The minivan section.

I am not driving a minivan.

"Hey babe?" I decide to broach the subject on the way back to the office.

"Hmm?"

Donna looks up from the reading material on hospitals she picked up.

"Can we have a reasonable discussion about trading in the car?"

"Define reasonable. Reasonable as in what would be a mature, adult decision based on our long-term family planning or reasonable as in you won't be caught dead driving a minivan?"

"The second one."

"The minute we have a second child, we're going to need the space," Donna shakes her head at me. "Two car seats, two strollers, two kids worth of stuff, Josh. It just makes sense."

"Can we compromise at all? Maybe one of those station wagon thingies that Crocodile Dundee pitches? Anything, Donna, please?"

I've been reduced to whining.

"How about we make a deal?"

She's giving me the I know something you don't know' look.

"What?" I ask warily.

"Whichever one of us finishes higher in the basketball pool gets the final decision."


	24. Let's Make a Deal

I love my sister a great deal. 

Nothing else would explain why I agreed to drive halfway across the country in a 1965 Ford Mustang convertible with rear­wheel drive and a 5­speed, manual transmission. With my little brother and my two­and­a­half year old son.

Thankfully, I left Kelley with Mom and Dad.

We left Madison Friday afternoon around 2, stopped in Nowheresville, Kentucky for the night and now I'm trying to navigate downtown Washington, D.C. 

In a sleet storm, at dusk.

I suppose I could stop and ask for directions, but who's going to believe me when I tell them I need directions to the White House staff parking lot on a Saturday night?

Pat, I think we drove past it again, Fred points at a gate I've seen three times.

I go around the block ­ again. 

Pat Schneider? the guard asks when I roll down my window. And Fred Moss?

Freddy and I both nod.

Follow Nick in the golf cart, he'll show you where to park.

Nick guides us through row after row of parking spots until we reach the one closest to the building. Not only are these reserved spots; they've got signs with names on them.

I back the Mustang into the one labeled J. Lyman.' Working Timmy out of his car seat, I wonder aloud where Josh's car is.

They used Mrs. Lyman's spot, Nick points three spots down to the Audi in a spot reserved for D. Lyman.'

Donna has her own parking spot? Fred is staring at the sign, rain dripping off his chin.

It's new, the guard laughs. Came with her promotion. The entrance is straight ahead. The agents will call someone to sign you in.

Thank you, I smile at the guy and sling Tim's diaper­bag over my shoulder before leading the way.

Fred asks while we wait for someone to show up.

I shrug. I haven't had a chance to talk to Donna since she and Josh left Madison. I've been too busy moving back home and trying to find a job. 

Fucking Gerry.

Hi, I'm Debbie. I'm Donna's assistant. Debbie looks like she might be a couple of years older than Fred. She's short and a little chunky, but seems like a nice person. Donna's in a meeting and Mr. Lyman is in with the President, but if you want to come on back, you can wait in the bullpen.

***

The last two weeks have been such a complete whirlwind I barely know where to start.

Okay, how about with my new title? Assistant Deputy Chief of Staff for Domestic Policy. Leo thought it up all on his own, Margaret told me.

The office I was given is CJ's old one, the one with the adjoining door to Josh's. 

Handy as all get out for lots of reasons.

Then there's Debbie, the intern I adopted on election night. Turns out she graduates from Bryn Mawr in May, as soon as her internship is up, with a degree in Political Science and a minor in Feminist and Gender Studies. Once she graduates, we're hiring her full­time. Until then, she's still technically an intern.

Josh and I are sharing her at the moment because he can't find anybody he trusts.

He's interviewed 3 candidates a day, every day, for the past 14 days.

You do the math.

Anyway, my new job might actually be easier than the old one, but the jury's still out on it.

We'll see what happens once Josh gets an assistant of his own.

In the short term, the goal is to get Debbie to stop calling him Mr. Lyman.'

Your sister and brother are here, Debbie intercepts me as soon as she sees me heading down the hallway. Mr. Lyman is still in the Oval Office and your doctor called to reschedule your appointment next week from Friday to Thursday.

How did Josh's interviews go? This is the first group I've missed. I had a meeting out of the building.

Debbie just shakes her head in a cross between amusement and sympathy. How do you live with him?

I laugh as I open the door to my office.

***

There's nothing like missing a good basketball game to listen to the President play mediator to the Secretary of Agriculture and the Secretary of the Interior while they argue over grazing rights.

Especially when you're not sure what grazing rights are, much less how they relate to Homeland Security.

The outcome of my agreement with Donna regarding the purchase of our new vehicle hinges on tonight's game though, so all is not lost. As long as Texas beats Arizona.

Go Longhorns!

Charlie ushers the still sparring Secretaries out of the Oval Office at 6:00. Bartlet promised the entire staff the day would be over by 6:30; giving everyone plenty of time to get wherever they're headed for the second game. 

This Administration is the biggest bunch of closet basketball junkies you've ever laid eyes on. Monday the place will be deserted by 6 o'clock at the absolute latest.

CJ, Sam and Toby are heading to the sports bar we've watched the Final Four at for the past five years. Even if Pat and Fred weren't in town, Donna and I wouldn't be going this year. The smoke makes us both uneasy.

Go home, Josh. Get used to the idea of driving a minivan. Bartlet gathers his briefcase and shoos me out of the room.

I snort, but don't argue and take off for my office.

***

A speeding toddler appears from nowhere, streaking towards me as fast as his little legs can carry him.

Unca Joss! 

Oh, joy. I didn't know Pat was bringing Velcro­Boy along.

It's hard to be annoyed. When I pick Tim up he throws his arms around my neck, resting his head on my shoulder and sticks his thumb in his mouth contentedly.

Donna is waiting with my coat and her siblings.

Are we? I give Pat a hug and shake hands with Fred.

I even ordered the pizza already, she announces, shepherding us all to the lobby.

You mean you made Debbie order the pizza already, I tease her. She's really into having an assistant of her own.

***

I stick my tongue out at him. Who's riding with who?

We men will take the muscle car, Josh announces, taking the keys from Pat and handing me the keys to the Audi.

Then you men can stop and get the ice cream.

There are four different kinds of ice cream in the freezer Josh trails off at the look on my face. He's becoming increasingly familiar with the I have a craving' face.

Mint chocolate chip, I order, hurrying past him through the sleet to the Audi.

Pat starts laughing as soon as we close the doors. See, Gerry would have just told me to go get it my damn self.

Gerry was a jackass, Pat.

Josh filled me on the trip back to D.C. I was a bit surprised she got drunk and told Josh before anyone else, but I really appreciate her keeping it quiet until after the wedding.

Pat's cool like that.

I know, I just she stops and stares out the window as I park the car.

This is what we're going to do. We are going to go upstairs, eat pizza and ice cream, watch Arizona kick Texas' ass and then start picking out minivans. We are not going to talk about Gerry, I announce. It's obvious she's trying not to cry and doesn't really want to talk about it.

You aren't really going to make him get a minivan, are you? 

I get the feeling she's siding with Josh.

It's practical, I protest as I unlock the apartment door.

It's still a minivan.

***

Fred is looking at me expectantly when I get back in the car.

I don't even remember what we were talking about before I ran into the store to grab the mint chocolate chip ice cream and a six­pack of Sam Adams.

You ready to drive a minivan? 

He's laughing, which means he knows something I don't know he knows.

I just wouldn't have made that bet is all.

Why not?

Donna's using my picks, he shrugs. I'm pretty sure you got suckered.

***

My night stacks up like this: two halves, 187 points, three overtimes, two pizzas, a gallon of ice cream, six beers and one minivan.

Texas loses 94 to 93 on a miraculous last second three­pointer by Arizona's Luke Walton.

***

Josh is sitting in front of the TV with his mouth hanging open in shock and disbelief.

I am so getting a minivan.

I'm going to head to bed, then, Pat says, heading towards the spare room where Timmy is long asleep.

Fred and I trade smirks. I stand up and take Josh by the hand. Come on, it's two o'clock in the morning and the news is starting. Let's go to bed so Freddy can get some sleep.

He follows after me, mutely; staring over his shoulder even after Freddy turns the television off.

Twenty­one points.

It finally speaks.

They blew a twenty­one point lead, Josh moans, flopping fully­clothed onto the bed.

Are we working tomorrow? I crawl onto the bed next to him.

I'm not going to work for a month.

Now, It pouts.

It won't be that bad, I tell him, running my hand up his t­shirt. My fingernails scrape lightly against the skin of his stomach.

It'll be that bad, he whines some more, making no effort to return my advances.

The bet was the winner makes the final decision. You just need to persuade me why your opinion is the one we should go with, I purr seductively. 

Josh lifts his head up and raises an eyebrow at me, obviously considering his options.

How much of you do I need to persuade? he asks, capturing my roaming hand with his own.

All of me.

All of you, hmm? He brings his other hand up to my face and traces my cheekbone.

***

Unca Joss?

I've had this dream before. This is the one where my nephew doesn't stop poking me in the ribs until I get up and watch cartoons with him.

Unca Joss!

I fell asleep an hour ago, this is not happening.

Unca Joss!!

How did he even get up on the bed? It's at least a foot above his head.

Unca Joss! Now he's trying to shake my shoulder.

I finally stick my head out from under the covers. 

Mama wants you.

Go tell her I'll be right there.

Bob da Builder? He's looking at me with those huge blue eyes, begging me to watch cartoons with him.

After I talk to Mama, okay?

Tim climbs down and scampers out the door.

I crawl out of bed, grabbing boxers and a t­shirt on my way to the kitchen. Pat is at the table, drinking coffee and staring at the brown liquid.

What's up? I pour myself a cup of coffee.

You're a lawyer, right?

Not according to Sam, I smile. Pat, it's only been three weeks. Are you sure you don't want to give it more time? Maybe he'll wise up and reappear.

I take in the look on her face and nod my agreement. Yeah. Okay.

Donna emerges from the bedroom, yawning. She pours herself a glass of orange juice and then surveys the two of us. I'm interrupting something.

No, you're not. Pat sighs.

What about what's his name, the lawyer your parents use? I ask, clueing Donna in on the topic.

He doesn't do divorces, she shrugs.

I think for a minute, trying to recall the name of the firm in Milwaukee my attorney hired. The only thing I can remember is the baby­faced kid they sent to close the farm deal. Here's what we'll do. I'll call my lawyer tomorrow morning and have her hunt somebody respectable down for you. How's that for a start?

***

Pat just looks miserable, but faintly nods at Josh's suggestion. I reach over and grab her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. 

It'll be okay, Pat. Remember the mantra: Gerry is a jackass.

She smiles enough for me to be comfortable that she's doing what she wants to do, not what she thinks she has to do.

Josh decides his presence is no longer required and he jerks his thumb towards the living room. I'm going to go watch Bob the Builder

Pat waits until Josh turns the TV on. He's a good guy, Donna. He'll do anything for you, you can tell just by the way he looks at you.

Except consider a minivan, I scoff.

How can you drink orange juice? Pat changes the subject.

Mr. Wonderful refuses to drink decaf coffee.

No, I mean the smell of it made me sick when I was pregnant. Do you know if it's a boy or a girl, yet?

I shake my head, They still can't tell. How's the job hunt?

I haven't worked in over five years, I don't have a degree It isn't going well. Dad thinks I should go back to school.

What do you want to do? I'm honestly curious. I know the year she was at UW, Pat was an education major, but I never knew if it was because she thought she should be or because she wanted to be a teacher.

Honestly? Early childhood education. We share a few more minutes of silence. I ought to get Fred out of bed, our flights leave at noon and it's almost seven.

You go shower, I'll take care of Freddy. Can you believe Mom and Daddy are letting him go to Padre?

***

Can I talk to you for a second? Donna sits next to me on the sofa.

I toss a glance at Timmy, who's sitting next to me, completely enthralled by Bob the Builder. 

At least it isn't Barney.

Donna nods. Pat wants to go back to school.

Then her tuition will be tax­deductible, I smirk.

Be serious, Joshua. What if she and the kids moved into the house?

Our house? I ask, incredulously.

The one we won't live in for another four years? Donna lifts her eyebrows at me. The one nobody is living in?

I did kind of get the impression Deb wasn't keen on them moving back home, I concede.

***

Kind of? I had to talk Mom off the ceiling over the phone.

Alright, alright. They can move in and take care of the place while Pat goes back to school. Josh agrees a little too quickly, if you ask me.

he's faking the innocent look.

You already thought of it.

I didn't, he protests weakly.

What, then? You look like the Mets just won the World Series.

I was going to suggest something else, but your idea is better.

Ass kisser. I try glaring at him, but we both just end up laughing.

Come here, Josh pulls me into a tender kiss, resting one hand on my stomach. I love you.

I return his kiss, covering his hand with my own. Who you talking to there, babe?

Both of you. Did I persuade you last night?

You made a heck of a go at it, but I'm not entirely convinced.

Can I try again tonight?

***

Returning to the office Monday morning, I discover it's as bad as I thought it would be.

They went to a lot of work on this one.

Seriously.

My office is wallpapered in minivan ads from magazines and in the middle of my desk is a blue, plastic, Barbie Volkswagen microbus along with Barbie, Ken and a baby Barbie.

I have to admit I am getting a little tired of CJ's jokes.

Or maybe I'm just tired of being treated like a fool by my friends.

***

Oh, it's bad, I snicker from our adjoining door. 

This reeks of CJ.

Josh just sighs and grabs the files he needs for his meetings today before heading back out the door without a word.

Not his usual reaction to the jokes he's subjected to. He usually just laughs it off.

They may have gone a little too far this time.

I head back to my own desk and call to set­up an appointment with a car dealer in Maryland that Bonnie recommended. Josh and I both have a couple of hours free tomorrow afternoon.

We need to get this taken care of.

Any more persuading' and I won't be able to function. Josh had me up until almost four o'clock this morning.

***

Everybody gets their digs in at Staff. CJ and the President have a particularly joyful field day with the whole thing.

I smile and try not to let it get to me. I have a daylong series of meetings at CIA Headquarters in Langley today. All I need to do is make it through Staff.

Once in the car, I pull out my cell and call my attorney. Pat was thrilled with Donna's idea and I agree it makes sense for someone to live in the house while we're in D.C. We just need to get Pat divorced before the jackass shows up again.

Helen promises to find someone in Madison and gives me the number of the firm in Milwaukee that handled the real estate deal.

Chris Proles, please. I manage to remember the kid's name.

I'm sorry, he's in a meeting. Can I take a message?

I leave my name and cell number as I park the Mustang in the visitor's lot at Langley.

***

You busy? CJ sticks her head in my office.

I'm just doing preliminary research for the Family and Medical Leave Act. It's up after the summer recess. I gesture for her to come in and relieve my monotony.

Anything to distract me from the tap dance the bear is doing in revolt of the tuna salad sandwich I had at lunch.

What's up with Josh?

I'm not giving this one away for free. CJ pissed him off, CJ can figure out what she did. And moreover, what Josh will do in retaliation.

He was just really quiet during Staff today.

He's busy. The reorganization recommendations are due next week and he's trying to help me transition. We've got a lot going on outside the West Wing, too.

You don't think he's upset?

I don't know, CJ. I know he's not upset with me. Other than that, we haven't had a chance to talk today.

We're still on for tonight, right?

Josh and I offered to have everyone over to watch tonight's game at our apartment, rather than go out to a bar.

Yeah, sure, I answer distractedly, reaching for my ringing phone.

Donna Moss. I'm using my maiden name at work to keep the confusion, and gossip, to a minimum. I wave at CJ as she heads out.

Hey, yourself, Grumpy­pants. What's up?

I hired a guy.

Praise be. Who? This is a minor bombshell, considering he hasn't interviewed anyone today.

A guy from Milwaukee. He starts April 15th. Let Debbie know her nightmare is almost over.

Josh, what's wrong? He's starting to worry me. Everything seemed fine this morning. I'm the only member of our family allowed to go through mood swings like this.

It's nothing, Donna. I promise. I'm just going to be here longer than I thought.

How late?

Don't wait for me and I'll probably miss the party late. I'm sorry, Donna, he apologizes contritely. This has ended up being more than I anticipated. Billings wants me to go to New York tomorrow and meet with the city's emergency management team. I need to go talk to those guys, anyway.

We have an unspoken agreement: no being pissy with each other if work pops up suddenly. If Josh needs to go to New York tomorrow, there's nothing he or I can do about it. 

That doesn't stop the sigh from escaping my lips. I'll have Debbie clear your schedule.

Josh picks up on my disappointment.

I made an appointment with a car dealer tomorrow afternoon, is all.

So? Keep it. I'll sign over the title of the Audi tonight when I get home. You've got the final authority anyway. Despite his best attempt to keep his voice neutral, a hint of bitterness seeps in.

I agree. But we're talking about whatever's bothering you tonight when you get home.

I love you, he whispers.

I know. I love you, too, babe.

***

I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be at home, throwing a party. President Bartlet's voice invades my solitude.

I'm trying to get my notes organized for tomorrow's trip. I think these guys are going to tell me what I really need to hear and I want to be able to ask the right questions. Tearing my eyes from the diagrams on my laptop, I squint while they adjust to the darkness of the room.

The only light is coming from my laptop and the muted television off to my left. The overheads are purposely off so I don't have to stare at the new wallpaper in my office.

They've already run One Shining Moment.' It's probably safe to go home.

Yes, sir. I don't protest his observation that I am here because I'm avoiding my friends. I just gather my things and head to the parking lot, smirking over my revenge.

Donna's in bed asleep when I get home. I quickly sign the car title she left on the kitchen table for me, undress and crawl into bed.

Attempting to sleep is futile. Instead, I curl around and rest my head beside Donna's growing belly.

Hey, little bear. How was your day? Yeah? Daddy had a pretty good one. He learned some pretty cool stuff and made some new friends. Who were very willing to help him get back at your Aunt CJ for thinking she's funny.

Joshua, what did you do?

***

Daddy will be right back, Josh pats my stomach. He needs to calm your eavesdropping Mommy down.

He pops his head out from under the comforter and gives me a quick kiss. I thought you were asleep.

You weren't upset, you were plotting, I accuse. It was a ruse to throw CJ off your scent.

Josh tries the innocent act, lightly running his fingers along my jaw.

Yes, you!

Did you know the CIA makes microscopic little devices they can program to do anything from beep to explode?

I don't want to know, do I?

No, you really don't. My husband grins his devious grin and starts kissing my neck.

***

Are you hearing a beeping noise? Sam and CJ appear together.

The clock on my computer indicates it is only 8:30 a.m.

Whatever Josh worked up as revenge has both of them twitching already. What's up?

Sam and I can both hear this really faint beeping, but nobody else can. CJ explains.

Except I can't hear it all the time. Just when I'm trying to write. It's annoying, Sam is fiddling with his favorite pencil.

You can hear it, too? Charlie materializes next.

CJ looks a little less tense. Can you?

No, but the President can.

Okay, I can't hear it, but I can hear this conversation, which I'd like to not hear. Can you all go, I don't know, to Toby's office maybe? I give them the same you're bothering me with stupid stuff' look I usually reserve for Josh.

It works better on them.

By the time I leave for my appointment with the car dealer Sam, CJ, Toby and the President are all suffering from this mysterious beeping and occasional buzzing noise and Ron Butterfield has agents sweeping the White House with counter­intelligence equipment.

I refrain from suggesting they call the CIA.

***

Three hours and four test­drives later, I succumb to the allure of four­wheel drive and decent ground clearance.

And heated leather seats.

Seating for seven.

Built­child safety seats.

Cargo space to rival the largest of minivans.

Heated leather seats.

Mark, the salesman, seemed like a nice enough guy and gave me an impartial, third­party comparison of my top two minivan choices and 2 SUVs. I test drove my favorite from each class and bagged the minivan.

Josh and I are now the proud owners of a 2003 Chevy Trailblazer.

In metallic green with a gray interior.

With heated leather seats.

We won't take delivery for six to eight weeks because the options I picked out require a special order.

I did not cave, I keep telling myself as I walk down the hallway to the bullpen.

What's going on? I whisper to Debbie.

CJ, Sam and Charlie are in Josh's office cleaning up their handiwork under Toby's watchful glare and the supervision of the Secret Service and the First Lady.

You know about the beeping?

I can't help but start to snicker. 

Ron Butterfield had to call the CIA because his guys couldn't find anything Debbie trails off when Abbey drifts over.

They're ceding the battlefield? My snickers become giggles. Leave it to Josh to recruit the First Lady to help him.

Evidently. Some guy at CIA not only knew what they were looking for, but where they were, the young assistant finishes.

They forgot a couple of things, Abbey addresses Debbie to impart some lessons I learned long ago.

My husband hired Josh because he's devious, manipulative, underhanded and doesn't fight fair. Basically, because he's a stellar political operative.

How do you forget something like that?

CJ and Sam are under the impression that when Josh and I got married, Josh got castrated, I explain.

What else did they forget? We've piqued Debbie's curiosity now. 

Everyone assumes the Sisterhood is always together, but Josh has forged some sneaky, backroom alliances with individual Sisters and Debbie's learning she needs to know what they are.

Abbey gives her a tight smile. Revenge is a dish best served cold.


	25. If It Looks Like a Duck

The Devil Rays? Do you believe it? Our Mets lost to the Devil Rays! After being up 6 to 1 in the eighth inning! 

I'm relaxing on the couch watching Josh rant about the Mets to the bear. He's sitting on the floor next to me, massaging my feet and ankles.

I shake my head at him. You're truly pathetic, you know that?

I am not! 

My grandmother always said, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it's a duck. You, Joshua Lyman, are a sappy and pathetic duck. I shift a bit to alleviate some of the pressure on my lower back.

Will the quoting of ancient Wisconsin proverbs increase over the next 10 weeks? The teasing note in his voice mitigates his groan.

If you want the sex to continue for the next 10 weeks, you'll stop mocking the wisdom of the women in my family, Duck-Boy. I tell him, luxuriating in his skilled fingers. It's nice to be home at a decent hour.

If you consider 11 p.m. to be a decent hour when you went to work at 7 a.m.

I'm not going to be able to do these 15 and 16-hour days much longer.

Tell me about it. I've barely had the energy to get up and run in the mornings.

Josh's dedication to crawling out of bed thirty minutes early to go jogging astounds me. But as long as he's doing something to keep his blood pressure under control, I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Sex constitutes exercise, right? Josh has ceased massaging my feet and moved closer to my face.

What? You don't want to get up in the morning? My hand drifts up his un-tucked shirt.

Dr. Williams told me it's supportive to exercise with your partner, he murmurs, drifting in to press a kiss to my lips.

You're very supportive, Joshua.

***

He's sprawled out on his stomach, drooling on the sheets. Normally, he'd be doing it on his pillow, but I appropriated it.

We finished watching Letterman after our little workout and then came to bed. 

Thirty minutes of tossing and turning later, I have failed to find a remotely comfortable position. 

If I'm going to suffer, Josh is going to suffer right along with me.

I still consider this his fault.

I whine louder this time and poke him in the shoulder.

Will you get the pillow?

Whatever snarky comeback he was going to utter dies when I give him the suffering pregnant woman' face.

Wordlessly, he clambers out from under the comforter and gets the pillow out of the closet.

Can we just keep it on the bed at this point? he asks, retaliating with his puppy dog' look. Or can I just shut up and rub your back?

I roll onto my side so Josh can stuff the corn-filled pillow under my belly for support. He then gets back into bed and starts kneading my lower back.

he murmurs into my ear.

I yawn. Thank you.

***

It took me three rings to differentiate the phone from the alarm clock.

Geoffrey Smith had a heart attack two hours ago.

I sit straight up in bed, all vestiges of sleeping vanishing. Supreme Court Justice Geoffrey Smith is an exercise fiend. The only thing he hates more than missing a workout is liberalism.

Get your ass in here, Josh.

I stare at the handset in shock then glance at the clock. Big, red numbers shine 4:30 a.m. back at me.

Looking at Donna's snoring form, I decide to leave her a note and let her get a couple more hours of sleep. It was 2:30 before she conked out; one of us should have more than two hours of rest.

Smith is dead before I get to the West Wing to confer with Leo and the President in the Oval Office. 

Aside from the three of us, the building is eerily quiet.

What does the short list look like? Leo asks the instant I enter the office.

I wordless hand the list I hastily scribbled down to Bartlet.

This is what you've got? Leo takes the list from the President. Is this shaving cream?

Give me an hour and I can get you a more complete list.

You came up with six while you were shaving? Leo gawks at me. You can have the rest of the day to flesh out the list. Include your dream candidates, brief backgrounds, major problems the Senate is going to have You know the drill. Pull Donna off of whatever she's working on, have her help you.

Yes, sir. I stand and look at the President.

He nods at me and I head for my office to get started.

Bartlet calls as I reach the door.

I finished going over your reorganization plan for the Homeland Security Office. Excellent work. When this is over, you and I need to sit down and talk about some things.

Thank you, sir.

I turned in the HSO plan over a month ago. It was over 500 pages long and took Debbie a solid week to type and proof. Which is probably why it took the President a month to read it.

I'm finally feeling confident on National Security issues. Nancy McNally and the guys at NSA and CIA have been very patient getting me up to speed over the past eight weeks. 

***

This is going to be one of those days.

How do I know? 

Primary indicator: when Josh's bear doing a tap dance on my bladder got me up at 5:45, I found the I got called in' note taped to the mirror in the bathroom.

Secondary indicator: when I get to work the dregs in the coffeepot are warm. Josh has been through at least a pot already and it's only 6:30.

Flashing red beacon: the door to Josh's office is shut.

I pick the schedules off our assistants' desks. I still go over Josh's with him to keep myself in the loop.

My day is supposed to be spent researching the impact of the Clean Air Act on the rate of asthma in Los Angeles. Josh's day includes meetings with the Senate Foreign Relations chairman and the House Intelligence Committee leadership and

Oh, great.

He has a one o'clock appointment with his cardiologist. And a physical.

He's supposed to go twice a year, once in January and again in June. This is the January appointment he's been ducking for months.

I'm going to need reinforcements on this, I can tell already.

Picking up my phone, I leave a message on Lily's voicemail for the First Lady.

Back-up taken care of, I knock twice on our adjoining door and open it.

Good God!

Josh's office is a disaster area.

More so than normal.

Justice Smith had a massive myocardial infarction and died at 5 o'clock this morning. Josh doesn't even look up from the book his nose is buried in.

Who's on the short list? I close the door and relocate a stack of crap so I can sit down.

He reaches over and nudges a legal pad towards me.

These are judges I've never even heard of. I survey the list, trying to remember who was in the last group of candidates.

Get familiar with them. The President wants you and I to do the legwork.

What about Debbie? Josh's new assistant, Chris is a lawyer, obviously Josh will bring him in, but Debbie is another story. And the two of them hate each other.

It's fun to watch and even more fun when Josh has to referee. 

Well, fun in a watch Josh learn to deal with sibling rivalry' kind of way. 

The only thing our two assistants have in common is they're terrified of Josh.

Bring her in to help on the bio research. She and Chris are just going to have to get over each other.

You have a doctor's appointment today, too. Stress test, physical, the whole nine-yards, I remind him.

Have Chris reschedule it.

He looks at me like I've grown a second head.

Two reasons, I stand up and plant myself in front of his desk. First, you've been avoiding this since January. You avoid it any more and it'll be time for your June visit. Second, what would you say if I told you I wasn't going to my OB appointment tomorrow?

The closer I get to having this kid, the better I can bring the guilt.

I'd say I haven't been avoiding it. I missed it once, in January, because the President sent me to London. Between the doc's schedule and mine, this was the first date we could reschedule. Then I'd say everything is fine, I'm alive aren't I?

I don't get to respond because the office door flies open and my back-up appears like an avenging Valkyrie.

Joshua Lyman, explain to me how Geoffrey Smith died this morning?

I hear Josh gulp. Okay, okay. I'll go.

Dr. Bartlet continues to stand in the doorway with her arms crossed.

If he think my blood pressure is out of line, I'll talk to him about medication for it, Josh concedes.

The argument over his blood pressure has been raging for years. I try to stay out of it, aside from making sure he goes to his appointments, but I do keep tabs on it. He doesn't know I know the First Lady browbeat him into starting an aspirin regimen after he broke his leg last year.

You'll do more than talk, Abbey steps into the office and slams the door shut.

It isn't just borderline high blood pressure, Josh, she lowers her voice. You're at risk forÉ

Pulmonary hypertension. I know, Josh finishes bitterly, looking Mrs. B. in the eye.

She nods and leaves without saying another word.

Why is this the first I'm hearing about pulmonary hypertension? I'm not even sure exactly what it is, but I don't remember it ever coming up before and it sounds ominous.

***

Because I don't have it, I reply gently, trying to calm my wife down before she can get worked up.

It sounds like Dr. Bartlet thinks you might. Donna looks like she might start crying.

I'm at risk for it. Because of the I gesture to my chest.

I'm going along, she says empathetically.

Will you do my prostate exam? I joke, trying to take her mind off the doom and gloom possibilities.

Shaking her head, Donna gets out of her chair and smacks me with a stack of files.

Another knock on my door ends the spousal abuse.

Mr. Lyman? Debbie opens the door a crack. Chris is here.

I left a note I needed to speak to both of them, together.

Why is she scared of me? I mutter, pulling myself out of the chair.

Election night.

Election night?

Donna shrugs. I'm not completely sure which particular incident it was, but it might have been when you threatened to disembowel Doug with a straw.

***

At 9:30 I shove a bagel under Josh's nose. Eat. Now.

Not hungry. 

5 years of dealing with my husband's juvenile behavior is the best preparation for motherhood I could dream of.

You can't have anything for three hours before your stress test. Eat the bagel, I order. 

Leaving Josh to his research, I head to the bullpen and find our two assistants glaring at one another. 

Not bothering to contemplate what could have happened between them in the sixty seconds I was in Josh's office, I corner them both and reiterate the smack-down Josh laid down earlier.

I have no idea what going on here. Under any other circumstances, I'd bother to care. You are both about to discover the nomination process is a long and painful road to travel. You both need to on board.

The young woman flinches when Josh bellows her name.

***

Okay, Debbie and Chris are setting up a room in the basement. Either we'll have a workspace when we get back or two dead assistants. Let's go, Donna breezes into my office.

Evidently, it's time to leave for my doctor's appointment.

If we find out I'm going to live, we're locking the doors when we get back and having celebratory sex on the desk, I grumble, taking my overcoat from Donna.

If we find out your blood pressure is normal, she qualifies, looping her arm through mine.

***

Josh's cardiologist, Dr. Bryan Mitchell, is a former colleague of the First Lady's. He makes a special exception and functions as Josh's regular doctor as well.

I hover while the technicians and nurses put Josh through his paces.

They do the prostate and testicular exams last.

I step out of the room for those.

Spongebob, Gary and Patrick and I share a special relationship. Seeing them manhandled by a stranger doesn't appeal to me at all.

When I go back in, Josh looks decidedly uncomfortable, but he's dressed.

What's the verdict? he asks.

Dr. Mitchell flips through the paperwork they've amassed today. 

Everything looks pretty good. Your labs will be back in a week or so, but I don't see anything to be concerned about. You've lost five pounds since last June, your muscle tone looks great, the EKG is normal, he pauses and smiles at me. I get the impression you aren't having any sexual problems.

Blood pressure? Josh smirks.

127 over 78. Which is down from 136 over 82 in June. Whatever you've been doing, keep it up.

The smirk widens. Lots of exercise.

I know you took up running a couple of years ago. What else are you doing? the doctor asks casually.

Sex. Lots of sex, Josh states emphatically, shining smirk in my direction.

Get out of here and stop embarrassing your wife, Dr. Mitchell laughs.

***

I prompt once we're in the Mustang heading back to work.

Donna gives me an innocent look.

My reward? Your office or mine? 

We are not going back to the office and exercising, Donna shoots me down. You promised Leo no sex in the White House, remember?

Damn, of all the times for her to remember that. 

Wanna go home for a quickie? I offer.

Nope. You, pathetic Duck-Boy, are just going to have to spend the rest of the day at work fantasizing about doing your pregnant wife on your desk.

But, we need to keep in shape and we need to keep practicing. You know, because we promised the bear a cub.

For a guy with only a passing familiarity with wildlife, I'm growing concerned with your tendency to refer to our unborn as baby animals, Donna chuckles. And can I have this one before you start planning for the next one?

***

What are you guys doing this weekend? Sam is stalking me in the lobby.

I have no desire to reveal my weekend plans to anyone in this building who might spread the rumor I'm a sap. It took way too much time and energy to teach CJ and Sam a lesson.

Not that it wasn't worth it.

They've both avoided me like the plague for almost a month. The ass-chewing I got from the President about the misappropriation of government resources' was more humorous than it was intimidating.

I ask suspiciously, ushering him past the cowering pair of assistants into my office.

Sam drops onto the sofa. I liberated it from CJ right after the payback incident, so Donna would have a place to lie down if she was tired. Leo sent me to remind you what this weekend is.

Yes, I sent my mother AND Donna's mother cards already, I lean back in my chair.

I got the impression those weren't the mothers he was reminding you about.

Leo actually thought I'd forget to do something for Donna? I ask incredulously.

Well, we sort of took a vote and we all thought you'd forget. Leo just agreed to take the fall, Sam admits.

I raise my eyebrows at him. Do I need to call the kids over at CIA? 

My best friend is suddenly very defensive. You aren't the most perceptive guy in the world, Josh. It's a valid concern given your track record. 

I'm taking her paint shopping, I reply proudly. 

I've given this a lot of thought and decided the best Mothers' Day gift I can give my 7-months pregnant wife is to start getting the nursery ready. 

Step one is going to be painting the spare bedroom for the second time in a year. Steel gray just isn't an infant friendly color.

Saturday morning will be a trip to wherever Donna wants to buy paint. Paint I will apply on Saturday afternoon. After the fine folks from Two Men and a Truck come get the stuff currently in the room and relocate it to a storage facility I rented last week.

Since Donna can't be around paint fumes, I've arranged for her to go baby furniture shopping with Abbey Bartlet.

Sunday, I'm making breakfast and then we can go buy whatever she picked out on Saturday.

Sam doesn't think much of my plan. 

Paint shopping? he asks skeptically, Are you nuts?

Get out, I laugh, waving him out of my office. You can report back to the group I have it covered. If they don't believe you, refer them to the First Lady.

You want help? he offers. I'm not doing anything tomorrow and I think CJ and Donna would feel better if you had proper supervision.

Shouldn't you be doing something with Rachelle?

Try as Toby and I might, we have been unsuccessful in ridding him of that unfortunate appendage.

We broke up, Sam admits. She fell for the new personal trainer at the gym where she teaches aerobics.

Great, half the job took care of itself. Now all we need is to find him someone the rest of us like. 

***

I purr, kissing his bare shoulder in an attempt to wake him up.

He kicked me out of the West Wing at 8 o'clock last night, telling me I should get some sleep since I have an OB appointment in the morning.

I was asleep by the time he got home.

I'm not asleep now. 

Mostly because it's 5 a.m. and his alarm clock just went off.

he mutters sleepily into the mattress.

I kiss another spot on his shoulder. It's time for your morning workout.

Josh rolls onto his back and opens his eyes in confusion.

I end that by lowering my head and giving Spongebob a kiss good morning. 

He groans in pleasure and runs his hand up my body to my breast. Squeezing it firmly, he draws a gasp from my throat.

What day is it? Josh asks, moving his other hand to my unattended breast.

I reply, straddling his body and trying in vain lean down and kiss the base of his throat.

Something I was fully capable of doing two days ago.

***

Even half-asleep, I notice Donna is unable to reach what she wants in her current position. 

Evidently, something shifted overnight, because I don't remember her being well whale-like, yesterday.

I try sitting up, but this isn't going to work either. Her stomach is just too awkward between us.

Good, maybe she's gained some damn weight.

Before she can let the hormones take over, I slip my fingers between us. Lie on your side, I suggest, stroking her clit slowly.

We curl our bodies together and I reach my hand over her hip, continuing to stroke her. 

Donna's not incredibly fond of this position because she can't touch me. 

I find her free hand with mine and guide it to her breasts and together we massage their fullness. Her other hand joins the one I've dedicated to her climax and I feel both of them clench in time to her cries.

Squarepants is wet and inviting from Donna's orgasm. Raising her leg, I penetrate deeply and achieve my own orgasm within moments.

***

Josh regains his breath and pulls himself from my body.

I'm going to go run, he says, kissing my belly button when I roll onto my back. You can have the bathroom first, since you're awake.

You're going to help me up, right?

I seem to have the grace of a beached whale this morning.

He pulls me out of bed and heads outside. 

I spend fifteen minutes in front of the bathroom mirror examining the new shape of my body. 

I really can't complain. Jennifer, one of the administrative assistants in the East Wing, was this size in her fifth month. 

I've only got ten weeks to go.

I also haven't had bad skin or spotting or severe cravings; my husband still thinks I'm sexy; I've only gained 12 poundsÉ I'm just the size of a whale this morning. 

Explain this to me, because I don't understand how 12 pounds translates into whale proportions.

***

Good morning, Dr. Williams doesn't look happy.

We both look like we've been sent to the principal's office: Donna is sitting on the exam table, examining the front closure tie of her paper gown and I'm suddenly fascinated by the fetal growth chart on the wall.

Josh, didn't I put you in charge of making sure Donna eats?

I do, I protest. I make sure the woman eats five times a day at least.

And good, healthy food, too.

He does, Donna nods her agreement.

Help me understand how you've lost a pound in the past two weeks?

She lost a pound?

Dr. Williams sighs at the looks of confusion Donna and I are both sporting. How many hours are you working?

Donna shrugs. 15 or so. I go home when I'm tired and I take a nap every day. Josh got me a couch.

I stole it from CJ, I nod proudly.

8 hours a day, the doctor orders, sternly. And the nap.

My wife looks horrified at the prospect of only working 8 hours a day.

The baby seems to be growing normally. Estimated fetal weight right now is 3 pounds, which is low, but developmentally I think we're okay. Up your caloric intake and decrease your stress levels, Donna.

***

Saturday morning, after two days of working 9 to 5, I wake up refreshed and hungry to the smell ofÉ 

Blueberry pancakes?

Josh has turned into the Iron Chef. He made apple cinnamon muffins yesterday morning, packed my lunch and left me dinner in the fridge. 

The night before he made some sort of baked chicken thing. 

He's taking the food and rest issues very seriously.

Fortunately, he can work from home right now, so I'm not lonely at night.

I'm unable to get out of bed by myself anymore and I can no longer reach my feet.

He stands in the doorway to the bedroom and smirks. Problems, Donnatella?

You did this to me, I accuse, holding my arms up for him.

You were the instigator, he points out, prying me into a sitting position then kneeling between my knees.

He presses a kiss to my stomach, resting his hands on either side. Good morning, little bear. How do blueberry pancakes sound this morning?

I'm rewarded with a series of fetal kicks to my bladder. 

Must pee! Now! I say, standing up quickly and bolting into the bathroom.

***

the kid at the paint counter at Lowe's gawks at the paint chip Donna picked out before she dashed off to the bathroom for the fourth time today.

It isn't a subtle, creamy yellow either. It's a bright, sunshine yellow. Call it a Big-Bird sort of yellow.

I shrug. I didn't get an actual say, I'm just the manual labor. I need two gallons in the glossiest, most child-friendly stuff you've got.

***

Dr. Bartlet arrives promptly at eleven to pick me up.

Don't let her get too far from a bathroom, Josh admonishes, walking us down to the street.

10 more weeks of constant peeing is going to get old.

It isn't even like I have to go, I just feel like I do.

How does antique shopping sound? the First Lady asks after we climb into the SUV.

I haven't given a great deal of thought to baby furniture, to be perfectly honest. Josh sprung this whole thing on me last night. I had decided the color and motif I want for the nursery, but furniture slipped my mind.

It sounds fine, ma'am, I agree.

Donna, it's going to be a long afternoon if you insist on calling me ma'am.

There's just a part of my brain that refuses to call the First Lady by her name. I'll try, ma'am.

You'll understand soon enough, Mrs. Lyman, I promise, Abbey tells me cryptically. For now, however, are you tired of being pregnant, yet?

I chuckle a bit. Believe it or not, no. Outside of the near constant need to use the restroom, I'm actually enjoying it. Don't tell Josh, though.

Really? By the time I was seven month's pregnant with my first, I was swearing Elizabeth was going to be an only child.

Give me a week or two, I might change my mind. I answer, after a particularly painful poke in the ribs.

***

We should tape the baseboards. Sam and I are standing in the middle of the empty spare bedroom, now nursery.

What about the floor? I look up at the ceiling, it needs to be painted as well.

Drop cloths.

***

Oh, Donna, come here! Abbey calls from the other side of the third antique store we've stopped at.

Nothing I've seen has even piqued my interest.

Dr. Bartlet is standing next to an obviously handmade, rosewood cradle that must be 200 years old. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

It's perfect, I gush, picking up the tag to check the price. Gushing becomes gulping. It's staying.

It wouldn't be practical, I decide reluctantly. The baby will grow out of it in six months and then we'll still need a crib.

Donna, these are the kind of things that become family heirlooms. Your great-great-great grandchildren will be using it for their children.

Josh will freak. We just bought a new car and the farm in Wisconsin 

The combination of which put a serious dent in his long-term financial planning. Last month, he not so subtly informed me we're back to living on our government salaries.

Abbey snorts. Then consider it a gift from Jed and I.

Dr. Bartlet, I start to object but she cuts me off.

No arguments.

***

Not bad, Sam is turning circles in the middle of the room trying to decide if we missed any thing. What is she going to do on the walls?

I have no idea, I hand him a beer and open the window to let the paint fumes dissipate. Can you believe this?

I'm having a kid. It's almost like it hits me for the first time. 

I'm going to be somebody's dad. 

Oh, God.

I can't do this.

Sam has a funny look on his face.

You're going to be a great dad, he tells me earnestly.

You think? I'm not so sure. Patience and unselfishness are not my strongest personality traits.

***

The store's owner shows us a crib and rocking chair to go with the cradle. They aren't nearly as old, but were handcrafted to match it. 

My husband is a carpenter, she mentions. He'd probably be willing to build any other accessories you would need.

In the end, we take the cradle and I promise to bring Josh back tomorrow to look at the other pieces. They aren't nearly as expensive, but I want to let him have a say.

***

Sam and I are watching baseball on TV when Donna and Dr. Bartlet get back. Two Secret Service agents follow them in carrying a cradle.

Whoa, back the truck up. 

She was supposed to go look today.

Not buy.

There was to be no buying today.

I get off the sofa and straggle into the nursery behind them.

It's an antique and it is beautiful. It even fits in the room like it was meant to be, butÉ

Close your mouth, Joshua. It's a gift. Dr. Bartlet shares a laughing look with Donna.

A gift? I'm confused.

From Jed and I. For everything you and Donna have given up for us. She pats my arm and smiles at me.

It must have cost a fortune.

Ma'am, this is too much. I appreciate it, without question, but you didn't have to

Donna gives me the shut up now' look.

Thank you very much, I finish.

***

Standing in the nursery, gently rocking the cradle back and forth, I can't help but envision what life is going to be like in a couple of months, when I'm standing here rocking my baby to sleep.

I wasn't lying when I told the First Lady I was enjoying pregnancy. I have mixed emotions right now though. On one hand, I can't wait to hold this child in my arms and on the other the thought of giving birth leaves me feeling a bit empty inside.

Hey, babe? Josh calls from the living room. The show is on!

One of the bonuses to not working ninety hours a week is I can actually watch television once in a while. I found this great show to help educate Josh on the realities of birth.

A Baby Story on The Learning Channel. 

They're running a Mother's Day marathon starting tonight.

Okay, so we really just watch it to mock people who are willing to put the birth of their child on television, but we're hopelessly addicted.

Josh is stretched out on the couch with the corn pillow already waiting for me. I lie down next to him and get comfortable. He automatically reaches around to gently massage my stomach.

Okay, that woman is huge. And I mean she was large before she was pregnant with twins.

Yeah, she does sort of waddle, doesn't she? Josh snickers.

I ask innocently. Sometimes, you've just got to keep your man on his toes.

Do I waddle?

Absolutely not, he replies without hesitation.

I smile at his thoughtfulness.

You're way past waddling.


	26. Father Knows Best

I call for my aide through the intercom.

Yes, sir?

Tell Leo it's tonight and then tell Josh I need to see him at 8 o'clock, I instruct. After the dinner thing.

Yes, sir, the young man answers.

***

But is it really an issue? Donna asks rhetorically.

She's resting on my misappropriated sofa while we go through the writings and ramblings of our Supreme Court candidates.

I still don't know. I doubt it, but this guy bugs me, I sigh, dropping the brief we're dissecting onto my desk with a groan.

I justÉ Donna stops and makes a face.

Are you alright? I'm starting to get concerned.

This is the third time she's done that in the past hour.

I'm fine, she waves it off. It's just cramps.

Charlie sticks his head in before I can follow up on the cramps.

Charles! Come on in! 

Please, anything to break up the monotony of legal mumbo-jumbo. Picking a guy for the Supreme Court is cool the first time and mind-numbing as hell the second.

The President wants to see you at eight tonight. After the dinner thing.

***

Neither of us is thrilled about the dinner thing. It's an early evening formal for the new Poet Laureate.

Josh wants to get as much of the vetting on this candidate done as we can before we leave for Wisconsin, and Freddy's high school graduation, in the morning. 

Me? I just couldn't find any attractive maternity formalwear.

Any idea what he wants? Josh asks Charlie.

None whatsoever. I can tell you you're his last appointment of the day, Charlie raises his eyebrows at my husband and then turns to me. How's your back, Donna?

7 weeks, Charlie. Ask me in 7 weeks.

***

The dinner and poetry reading breaks up just before eight.

Giving Donna a kiss and the car keys, I shake my head at her unspoken questions. I have no idea, but I'll walk home.

I get another kiss, promising more when I get home, and a sympathetic look. 

I'm sure I'll be up, she smiles.

Shaking a few hands, I head towards the Oval Office.

Mr. Lyman? one of the Secret Service agents grabs me. The President and Mr. McGarry are in the private study.

I change course for the Residence, wondering what's going on.

Come on in, Josh, the President is waiting for me with a glass of scotch. Have a seat.

What the hell is this?

I'm sure you're wondering what's going on, Bartlet begins after I get situated.

A couple of things, actually, son. Leo picks the ball up. We're going to implement your Homeland Security Office reorganization plan as submitted.

Wow. I was certain it would get shredded in the review process.

We want to make it a cabinet level position. Obviously, Tom Colburn isn't the man, the President continues. Now, Josh, Leo and I aren't trying to get rid of you or anything. We truly value the work you're doing now, but you would be our first choice for the Director of Homeland Security.

I have to remind myself to breathe. 

Flattering as the offer may be, reality comes crashing down around me before I can even exhale. You want to submit my name to the Senate for confirmation as the Director of Homeland Security?

I'm unconfirmable.

I antagonize and browbeat Senators. The 49 of them who are Democrats hate me. We won't even talk about the 48 Republicans and 2 Independents.

And I'm not anymore qualified than Tom Colburn.

Leo grimaces, instantly understanding my point and the President isn't far behind.

What are your plans? Leo leans back in his chair.

I ponder this sudden interest in my political future while swirling the scotch in my glass. Wisconsin's 2nd District is an entrenched Democrat. There's a Senate seat up in '06, though. A retiring Republican.

You're going to run for the Senate out of Wisconsin? the President asks in the same disbelieving tone I used earlier.

I nod. Possibly, sir. I've touched base with the state party chair, to make sure they hadn't tabbed somebody already.

Courtesy call? Leo confirms.

President Bartlet repeats, clearly having more trouble with the Wisconsin part than the Senate part.

Yes, sir. I live there now. I acknowledge my recent change in residency.

Hoynes has been making noise about bringing you back on board, the President sips his drink. He thinks you know how to sink Ritchie for good.

I purse my lips, trying to frame my response correctly. I do know how to sink Ritchie, but I'm not sharing that information with anyone right now. Let's just say Donna and I dug up a lot of dirt we didn't use in 2002.

I'm not interested in running other people's campaigns anymore. I've done it for 20 years and I'm tired of it. I found my real thing and I can't go back to mediocrity. If I'm going to put my family through the rigors of a national campaign, sir, it's going to be my own.

My two mentors trade an indecipherable look.

Speaking of your family, that's the other reason we brought you up here, President Bartlet gets up and refreshes his drink.

We're going to impart, what would you say, Leo? 75 years of paternal wisdom?

Leo undoes his tie. It's natural to be nervous, Josh. Anyone with the desire to be a good father is going to worry about it.

Oh God.

The fatherhood lecture.

Like I wasn't nervous enough before.

***

Getting home, I'm too wound up to watch TV, and we're both packed for tomorrow, so I wander into the almost-finished nursery.

Josh caved, like I knew he would, and bought the crib and rocking chair to match the cradle. We also commissioned a dresser, toy chest and changing table.

They'll be done around the end of June.

I got the wallpaper border and curtains last week, along with some self-adhesive mural stickers for the walls. It's a baby farm animal scene. Mostly ducks, sheep and cows. 

I wanted to do painted stencils, but I'm not artistic enough and painting the walls taxed Josh's skills.

The stickers will do fine.

***

They wouldn't let me anywhere near the delivery room, even when Zoey was born. The President is on his fifth scotch and I've heard detailed descriptions on everything from false labor with Elizabeth to Ellie's colic to Zoey's jaundice.

Leo started this by asking if I was planning on being present for the birth.

Like Donna would let me miss it.

Have you two agreed on names? Leo shifts gears.

Donna wants me to pick them out and surprise her. I've got some ideas, but I figured I'd meet the kid first, then decide for sure.

She gave you naming rights? Leo gapes at me.

She doesn't know about the fish, I blush, knowing the incident Leo's thinking of.

My parents refused to let me have a pet as a child. Mom finally relented enough to get me two fish for my seventh birthday.

I named them Red Fish and Blue Fish.

In my own defense, I was seven and Dr. Seuss was still cool.

They died a week later because I forgot to feed them.

For a week.

Leo laughs. At least you won't be in charge of feeding the kid.

Evidently, he remembers how the fish met their demise as well.

***

It's eleven and Josh isn't home, yet.

My back still aches and the Braxton Hicks contractions have started again.

I've been having them on and off since my last doctor's appointment two days ago. Dr. Williams thinks the six pounds I gained in the past two weeks probably triggered them.

In a feeble attempt to not worry Josh, I've been telling him they're just cramps.

He's worrying anyway.

A warm bath helped last night and sounds inviting again this evening. I pour some bath salts and bubbles in the water and climb in.

Resting my head against the lip of the tub, I run my hands over my extended belly. The feel of my uterus contracting slightly in a practice run for the real thing is just amazing.

I am in awe of what my body is going to do in seven short weeks.

Labor isn't something I'm letting myself fear, mostly because I refuse to believe the hype about the pain.

Oh, I'm sure there will be plenty, but my research indicates a positive mental outlook leads to a more positive, less painful birth experience.

Then again, I consider as the bear takes a kick at my kidneys, I'm having Josh's child.

Nothing will go as planned.

***

Donna seems to be a much happier pregnant woman than Jenny was, Leo lit a cigar about thirty minutes ago.

I think he's trying to get high on nicotine.

She doesn't know I know this, I can't help but smirk. But she loves being pregnant.

The two older men both stare at me in disbelief. No woman loves being pregnant, Josh.

I heard her tell her mother. No lie. I polish off my second scotch and contemplate another.

How many are you thinking of having? President Bartlet asks. I assume he's referring to kids and not scotch.

As many as we have. Donna doesn't plan to go back on the pill and there is no way I'm getting snipped, I declare, crossing my legs unconsciously.

We all look at each other uncomfortably for a moment.

The worst is teaching them to drive, the President shifts gears again.

Leo nods his agreement. Mal wouldn't talk to me for a month after our first session.

***

Pulling the drain on the tub, I notice some mildew in the grout under the spigot.

I grab an old toothbrush and some non-toxic cleaner from under the sink and surrender to the all-consuming urge to scrub.

***

My crappy watch says it's 1 a.m. when I stumble up the steps to our apartment.

The Secret Service drove me home after President Bartlet finally exceeded his personal alcohol limit.

The only light is shining from the master bathroom.

Donna? What are you doing?

She's naked, on her hands and knees, scrubbing the bathroom floor with a toothbrush.

***

Blowing a stray hair out of my face, I push myself onto my knees.

I'm nesting, Josh. Get over it.

He takes an unsteady step towards me and helps me to my feet.

President Bartlet fed him scotch.

he answers before I can ask, running a thumb over one of my nipples until it puckers in anticipation. He and Leo spent five hours inducting me into some sort of Father Knows Best' fraternity.

Josh dips his head, replacing his thumb with his mouth. His teeth pull gently as he sucks.

Almost before I know what's happening, I feel a sudden release deep within my breast.

***

I cup her other breast in my hand while I attend the first.

Donna's gasp reaches my ears the same time a thick, nasty tasting liquid contacts my tongue.

Swallowing instinctively, I almost choke on it.

What the hell? I gag.

My milk let down. Donna wipes her thumb over the offending nipple, showing me a yellowish fluid.

You mean they work? I'm flabbergasted. I thought that wouldn't happen until after the baby was born.

Donna smacks me on the shoulder. Of course they work, you dork.

***

I shed my clothes and help Donna get comfortable. She falls asleep tonight with little problem.

I, however, find myself staring at the darkened ceiling.

Wiggling around, I rest my head on Donna's thighs.

Hey, Bear, I whisper. It's Daddy. How's the growing going?

Biting my lip, I think about all the things I want my child to know.

Daddy loves you very much, little bear. I promise I'm going to tell you so every day. Even when you're 15 and hate me. I'll read you a story every night before you go to sleep and protect you from the monsters under your bed. I'll teach you to throw a baseball and shoot a basketball. I'll even teach you to drive, I pause to kiss Donna's stomach. And I'm going to be there when you come out and at every step along the way. I promise.


	27. Upside Down & Ass Backwards

I'm scrambling around getting ready for my 9 a.m. briefing, when Carol grabs me by the arm.

Leo wants you in his office right now.

I'm going to be late for the briefing, I tell her.

She shrugs at me. You're supposed to make them wait.

Margaret opens the door without hesitation. Leo's on the phone, so I make a gesture asking if he wants me to leave until he is done.

He shakes of his head slightly. In just a few seconds Sam and Toby join us; the President and First Lady enter from the Oval Office right afterward.

okay Right. We'll keep it as quiet as we can.

Leo hangs up the phone. That was Josh.

It's about time he turned up. He missed the 7:30 staff meeting and nobody has heard from him or Donna since they went home around 7:30 last night.

Evidently, Donna went into labor about 6:30 this morning.

We all trade glances. 

Donna's not due until July 29th; today is June 17th. 

My math skills aren't great, but even I can figure she's not due for six weeks.

Were they able to stop it? Abbey asks worriedly.

Leo has sort of a half smile on his face. It progressed a little fast for that.

Only Abbey, Leo and the President, know anything about the whole labor and delivery process. 

Although Josh has been trying to educate Sam. 

Primarily by grossing him out with graphic descriptions of what he's been watching on TV since Donna got him addicted to The Learning Channel. 

How fast? The First Lady transitions into doctor mode.

They didn't make it to the hospital.

She had it in the car? Sam pales a little at the thought.

Toby's forehead scrunches up as he tries to determine the logistics of Donna having a baby in Josh's Mustang.

Leo shakes his head, the half­smile now a full­blown grin. 

CJ, don't be surprised if you get a question about a 911 call from Josh and Donna's address this morning.

Leo, just spill what you know, the President demands.

Josh didn't tell me everything, but what I got was this: Donna was up all night with lower back pains and some other stuff. Right before 6:30 this morning, her water broke. Donna kept insisting she needed to push and Josh had the presence of mind to call 911. After he explained the situation, they told him he needed to, I don't know, check something.

I'd like to mention, for the record, that all of the men are the same shade of green right now.

Josh looks and sees something other than the head.

The First Lady groans. Oh, no.

Leo continues with a laugh, Josh said something else, but that's the gist of it.

I don't understand. Don't they come out head first? Sam asks.

Abbey nods. They are supposed to come out head first, face down. Sounds like the littlest Lyman was in a bit of a hurry.

That comment gets a fair amount of laughter before Dr. Bartlet finishes. There are some serious complications that can go along with it. How are they?

They're checking out Donna and he's not sure about the baby.

She was able to deliver? Abbey sounds amazed.

Josh claims it was the most disgusting thing he's ever done in his life. I have no details, but the kid beat the paramedics by a full thirty minutes. As Josh put it: it came out upside down, ass backwards, in a hell of a hurry. They got to the hospital shortly after eight. He just had time to call.

Am I supposed to announce this? I ask, checking my watch.

Not unless someone asks. Try to keep as much of a lid on it until the afternoon brief as you can. Josh says they haven't let him see the baby since they got to the hospital. He's a little freaked.

***

6:30 a.m.

We've been up all night. Donna couldn't get comfortable. Her back hurt more than normal and some other female stuff I'm not comfortable talking about. 

Since Donna was up all night, I was up all night with her, massaging her aching back, and her feet, and her ankles.

It's been an easy pregnancy, aside from Donna's, and by extension my, not being able to sleep comfortably. She barely had any morning sickness; there haven't been any complications, except she hasn't gained very much weight, only 20 pounds and 8 of it in the last month.

However, the ultrasound last week showed the little bear is developing normally, it's just a little on the small side. 

It gets that from my side. The largest Lyman baby on record was my sister, Joanie. She weighed in at 6 pounds even. I was 5 pounds, 6 ounces. Moss babies are huge from what I've been told. Donna claims she was 9 pounds, 4 ounces and that's average.

Due to my wife's incredible planning skills, we're ready to have this kid. The fact that I'm involved in Donna's Plan to Have This Baby Smoothly' does make me somewhat nervous, because, you know, the gods of planning hate me. 

The nursery is finished. I painted it yellow last month. A bright, Big­Bird yellow that really doesn't go with my skin tone. At least, that's what CJ claimed on the next Monday morning when I still had some of it in my hair. The last of the furniture was delivered this weekend.

The second vehicle finally got delivered Friday, six to eight weeks turned into almost twelve. 

I can't tell you how happy I was to discover Donna decided on a Trailblazer instead of a minivan.

Not that I've driven it, yet.

Her back must feel better because Donna has me by the ear at the moment, dragging me back to bed.

I need you, she informs me, reaching into my boxers. Spongebob responds to her touch, despite the fact that I need to be in the office in an hour and convinces me I can be late today.

We face one another on the bed. I ease my thumb across her nipple, following in with a kiss. The Wonder Twins have been very tender the past few days, so I'm wary, stopping when she gasps.

Do they hurt?

A little, she admits.

Just the nipples?

I have been fascinated by the changes in Donna's body. Her breasts are larger, heavier and they started leaking a thick yellow gunk occasionally. I learned that the hard way a couple of weeks ago when I ended up with a mouthful of something extremely nasty.

To my great delight, her belly button went from an innie to an outie. Moving south from her breasts, I spend some time playing with it, rubbing my hand around her stomach, downwards, finally caressing her inner thighs.

Her hips shifting towards me, Donna begs, Touch me, Joshua.

Well­trained husband that I am, I do as she says. In mere moments Donna tells me she's ready by rolling onto all fours.

I kneel behind her tentatively. I know intercourse is okay and everything, but it still weirds me out.

This morning she wants all of me.

Don't have to tell me twice. I do as she says and suddenly I can feel something move against Spongebob.

***

I have never seen Josh move so fast in my life. 

One second, he's making love to me; the next he's standing by the bed in abject terror.

I'll attribute it to the fact that my water just broke.

Josh squeaks.

Before I can answer, I am wracked by a contraction that lasts way longer than it should at this stage.

Oh no. 

Last night wasn't cramps.

It was labor.

Josh asks again. He's not squeaking anymore, but he still looks slightly petrified.

I take a deep breath and start to count.

After only a minute the next contraction hits.

It's time, isn't it?

He figured that out all by himself. If it didn't hurt so much, I'd be proud. 

Pulling his boxers on, Josh takes my hand and breathes with me. All those episodes of A Baby Story have evidently paid off, since our childbirth class isn't until this weekend. Last week, we toured the obstetrics ward at GW and I pre­registered us because Josh can't remember our insurance information on a good day.

The third contraction brings an overwhelming urge to push.

And to stand up.

Josh unquestioningly helps me to an upright position. I squat with my lower back resting against the edge of the bed and my hands gripping Josh's shoulders.

***

The contractions are about sixty seconds apart, lasting about two minutes each. This isn't good. Donna's next scream prompts me to grab the cordless and dial 911.

911. What is the nature of your emergency?

A woman operator. 

Thank you, God. 

I couldn't handle explaining this to another guy.

My wife is in labor. 

I can do this. 

I can stay calm. 

How far apart are the contractions? 

About sixty seconds. Her water just broke.

During the fourth contraction, Jan introduces herself, verifies our address and dispatches an ambulance.

Josh, it's a busy morning, it might take a while for them to show up. I need you to check something for me.

Oh God. 

I squeak.

Look and see if the baby is crowning.

I can do this. 

Since Donna's standing, or squatting really, I have to lie on the floor to look. 

I don't think that's what I'm supposed to see.

Um, Jan?

Can you see the baby's head? she asks.

I reply. But I can see a foot.

The only sound is of Jan flipping pages in a book. Grab it.

Grab the foot, but be gentle.

Do I need to wait for a contraction?

The book doesn't say.

The absurdity of the situation makes me laugh.

***

I'm dying up here and Josh is laughing.

Oh, Jesus, it hurts. I fumble for Josh's hand, squeezing it for dear life.

***

Donna has one of my hands and shows no intention of letting go, leaving me to cradle the phone to my ear with my shoulder so I can do something I never thought I'd have to.

When the next contraction starts, I reach in there and snag my kid by the ankle.

Okay, I've got a foot. What next?

***

He's got a WHAT?!

***

Carefully, slowly and gently, ease it towards you. Can you feel the other one?

I have to let go of Donna's hand to feel around in there. 

Should my whole hand fit up there?

Okay. I've got them both.

***

What the hell is going on down there? 

***

The cord is pinching!

Wow. Where the hell did that come from? When the hell did I learn enough to know that?

Jan starts to sound stressed at this point. Take your free hand and try to give it some more room.

My other hand is numb from Donna's death grip, but I free it and squeeze two fingers between my son's head and Donna, one on either side of the cord, because that seems like the logical thing to do. I pull outward as much as I think I can without hurting anything. 

I know it's a boy because not only is my son coming out upside down, he's ass backwards. I'm looking at his little Spongebob instead of his butt while I'm holding him in one hand, trying to support his neck.

She needs to really push with the next one, Josh. It's probably going to hurt.

***

I'm gasping for oxygen. 

I know for a fact it isn't supposed to go like this. 

I'm glad I can't really hear what Josh is saying to the person on the phone. 

I'm sure I'd just panic all that much more.

Push really hard with the next one, babe, he tells me.

***

She does like I ask and pushes with all her might. 

I pull with my fingers a bit more and the little dude's head pops out.

Hey, Jan?

Yeah, Josh?

I'm a dad.

Is he breathing?

The bear decides now is a perfect time to announce his presence in the world with a mammoth wail. 

Wow.

He got those lungs from his mother.

Jan chuckles on the other end of the line. I guess that's a yes. The paramedics just radioed in. They're still a ways out. Don't cut the cord, but wrap him up in a blanket so he doesn't get cold. Okay? It's not a bad idea for your wife to try breastfeeding him right away either. That will help deliver the placenta.

Thanks, Jan. I'm gonna put the phone down, I tell her.

***

The baby is still attached to the cord when Josh lays him on my chest. He helps me settle back on a few pillows. 

He's a boy.

I'm mesmerized by our son. He's incredibly tiny, but he has ten fingers and ten toes. Josh goes into our bathroom and comes out with a few towels to wrap him in. With a wet cloth, he reaches over and wipes the gunk from his son's head.

You did great, he tells me, pulling the comforter around me.

I look down into the baby's vivid blue eyes and see an ancient wisdom reflected back at me. The sound of sirens filters slowly into my brain and a knock at the front door finally breaks the trance.

Josh lets the paramedics in and they go about the business of loading my son and I onto a gurney. 

***

As the paramedics start to wheel them out, I instinctively grab my keys, phone and wallet, stopping only to slip a pair of sandals on my feet as I sprint out the door. Fortunately, neither of the two EMTs prevent me from climbing into the ambulance.

It isn't until one of them hands me a jacket I realize I'm wearing nothing but boxers.

This your first? the guy who gave me his coat asks.

I nod, unable to take my eyes off him, snuggled in his mother's arms. He's six weeks early.

He looks pretty good for being a bit early, the other guy says.

***

The minute we enter the emergency room, they stick a clipboard under my nose. 

In that instant, I lose sight of Donna. 

Holding my bloody hands up, I get out of filling in the forms. 

The admitting nurse asks for my name, Donna's name and if we're pre­registered. 

Donna did that last week, when we toured the OB floor so I wouldn't have to remember anything other than those three things when we showed up here.

I think it's the smartest thing she's ever done.

Thanking the EMTs, I take off down the hall in the direction the nurse points me. Hitting the maternity ward, I skid to a stop at the desk. A middle­aged nurse grabs me by the arm and guides me further down the hall, into an empty room. 

Stay put. When they're done checking your wife out, they'll bring her here.

What about

The baby went to the neonatal intensive care unit so they can make sure he's okay.

Alone, with nothing to do, I am suddenly exhausted. My gaze falls on the clock. 8:30. 

Shit. 

Pulling my phone out, I call Leo.

***

I don't get Dr. Williams, but the guy who sees me is pretty cool. After helping me deliver the placenta, he gives me a quick once over and seems pretty pleased.

Just a little ripping, Donna. Nothing major. I'm going to put in a couple of stitches, then they'll take you to your room. Little guy decided to come in a hurry, huh?

Just like his father, I groan. 

Well, Dad did a pretty good job. Breech deliveries can be complicated.

Breech? So that's what Josh meant by he had a foot. 

Dad' is wearing a hole in the floor when they take me to my room, looking truly pathetic. 

He's wearing boxers, an EMT jacket and sandals; he hasn't shaved; his hair is standing on end; and he's got a half­dried bloody goo all over himself.

He looks over when the door opens and the worry lines fade slightly. I'm sure I don't look much better than he does, but I at least got one of those hospital gowns to put on after they helped me clean up.

I settle into the bed and Josh sits down next to me, taking my hand

You okay? he asks.

Pretty much, I nod. Kind of sore though. They had to put in a few stitches.

Josh, it's not uncommon.

***

There are a couple of reporters who look like they might have it, but I avoid calling on them and make a clean escape.

Carol, do I have an hour or so free? I ask when I get back to my office.

You going up to GW?

Margaret is truly frightening. You do know that, right?

Hey, we're the ones who have to shuffle the schedules around.

Clear the Sisterhood an hour at noon tomorrow. We need to have an emergency baby shower. Who won the pool, by the way?

Carol rifles through my appointment book. You have ninety minutes at noon today, noon tomorrow should be okay, and, she pulls out an envelope with a calendar attached. Hey, this is not fair.

I look over her shoulder. You're kidding.

You know when Josh picked his day he claimed the kid would be early. Carol hands me the envelope. Do we know if it was a boy or a girl?

Leo didn't say. I don't have any firm details.

Sam comes bouncing up to Carol's desk. Hey, are you going over?

About noon. You coming along, Spanky?

***

It's almost an hour before a doctor comes to talk to us. Josh is getting panicky, mostly from lack of information, and he's pacing.

I'll admit to not being much better, but I did do a significant amount of research on premature infants. 

I had a hunch I'd need to know with all of Josh's prenatal encouragement.

Mr. and Mrs. Lyman? the woman asks, entering the room.

Josh points at himself and then me. 

I'm Dr. Peterson. I've got some good news and a couple of questions.

Fortunately, Josh ended his pacing next to the bed, so when his knees give out, he lands on the edge of it.

Your son is a tad on the small side at 4 pounds even. The EMTs who brought you in said he was breastfeeding when they got there?

We both nod, he latched right on. The 911 operator suggested it, Josh explains.

No problems with it? Dr. Peterson asks, making some notes.

I answer. He seemed to do okay.

I had done plenty research on breastfeeding as well. I was a bit surprised when he took to it so easily, but I refuse to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He seems to be breathing fine on his own and everything seems within normal ranges. The only concern we really have is he's having some trouble maintaining his body temperature. That's not unusual in preemies, though. Where you planning on breastfeeding?

I nod in response, unable to voice a simple yes. 

Intellectually, I know the survival rate for infants born at 34 weeks is over 96% and while his birth weight is low, it's not dangerously low. 

Emotionally, I'm a hormonal basket case.

We're going to keep him in NICU for a couple of more hours, then bring him down to you and see if he'll breastfeed again. After that, we'll play it by ear and see how he does.

***

It's almost noon when they bring the bear back to us. 

Aside from being a little undercooked, he seems okay. 

The minute they hand him over, he starts nuzzling for my nipple. 

A breast man, just like Dad.

Josh helps me get the hospital gown open and the little sucker latches on again. It feels weird, but comforting. 

Content we seem to have this under control, the medical staff hands Josh some papers and everyone leaves. A nurse tells us on her way out that she'll be back to check on us shortly.

He's a shrimp, Josh announces, reading from one of the forms. 4 pounds. 14 inches.

Thought up a name yet?

I gave Josh naming rights in a moment of weakness several months ago.

You didn't happen to check the clock when he came out did you? he asks, looking up from the birth certificate and smiling at me. I was a little busy.

And I wasn't? Guess, Joshua. I'd smack him, but my hands are full.

Signing the form with a flourish, he hands it over for my inspection. David Dakota Lyman, I murmur, hugging David a little tighter.

We are not calling him Davey, Josh says. He crawls onto the bed next to me and kisses his son on the head, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

Josh begins a quiet, one­sided dialogue with his son, lightly stroking the boy's full head of hair with his finger.

***

A knock on the door interrupts our first peaceful interlude of the day. Before we can answer it, CJ sticks her head in. David is still going to town on his lunch, so I get up to greet her. 

You look like shit.

Thanks, CJ. I love you, too.

She hands me a thin envelope. Shut up and be nice, you won the damn baby pool. Buy some damn clothes or something. 

Come on, Claudia. Rubber Ducky boxers are all the rage. I'm still wearing what I arrived at the hospital in.

CJ shakes her head at me. You can afford clothes, now. The pool was over $30,000. Most of the White House staff, over half of Congress, the Press Corps, lobbyists, everyone wanted in since it was only $20. We had to come up with three levels of tie­breakers. You, mi amour, were the only person to pick June 17th. The IRS already knows about it.

Wow.

Sam is with her and between the two of them, they must have bought half the gift shop.

Sam prods, setting flowers and balloons on a table near the bed.

So, what? There are too many things he could want to know and I'm too exhausted to try and figure it out.

What happened? CJ clarifies. She sits down next to Donna and David, who has decided he's full and wants to be burped.

We give them the Readers' Digest version of the morning's events. After getting the gory details, they both head back to work, CJ promising that she'll swing by our apartment and grab the go­bag Donna had packed and I forgot.

Once they're gone, Donna and David both drift off to sleep. 

With nothing better to do, I decide it's time to call the grandparents. Pulling out my cell, I start flipping through the pre­programmed numbers.

***

I'm trying to audit the accounting records of my largest client when the phone rings.

Deb Moss, I hit the speaker phone button.

Deb? It's Josh. My son­in­law sounds exhausted and excited at the same time. I wonder what he could want; they were here only10 days ago for Freddy's graduation.

What's wrong?

It's a boy.

They must have had another ultrasound.

When did you find out?

About 6:30 this morning when he decided he was done being cooped up inside of Donna.

I look at the clock; it's a little after 12:30.

He's a little undercooked, but pretty okay. David Dakota. 4 pounds, 14 inches. The exhaustion in his voice gives way to fatherly pride.

How's Donna?

Good. They're both asleep.

***

I give Deb my cell number and then call Mom.

David Dakota Lyman. 4 pounds, 14 ounces, 6:30 this morning. I announce with no preamble.

You're joking? Mamme asks in disbelief.

Nope. You're a grandmother.

You can hear my mother screaming in Alaska.

***

Josh is sprawled out in a chair looking at me with an odd expression on his face when I open my eyes.

Can I hold him? he asks.

I nod and he slips out of his chair and onto the bed with me. David is still asleep when I hand him, and his collection of blankets, over to Josh. He leans back against the headboard of the bed, snuggling our tiny creation in the crook of his arm. After a moment, I curl myself around them, resting my head on Josh's shoulder. 

He looks like you, I whisper.

David is a dead ringer for his father: his full head of hair is the same curly, dark stuff Josh has; the same nose; when he yawns you can see little dimples.

Josh snickers, Poor kid.

Before long all of us are asleep.

***

Donna has just gotten into the shower when the Sisterhood arrives in full force.

My son and I are dissecting the box score from last night's Mets game. 

Okay, David is asleep on my chest and drooling; I'm grousing about our inability to hold a lead in the ninth inning.

The only warning to the Sisterhood's arrival is a chorus of ohhs' which causes me to jerk in surprise.

Which wakes up David.

Who starts to cry.

I drop the paper and begin rubbing circles on his back. Don't let these mean women scare you.

CJ starts to get indignant, but stops when David ceases his whimpering.

They're just jealous, I whisper to him. They all want a guy as handsome as you to take home.

The snort comes from Margaret.

Give me the baby, mi amour. CJ holds her arms out.

I reluctantly give him over, but not before admonishing CJ to keep him warm. 

Now, you ­ out. Bonnie orders.

Um, can we wait for Donna to get out of the shower? I'm suddenly very nervous about leaving my son alone with the Sisters. 

Not just because he's starting to fuss in CJ's arms.

Josh, how many women are in this hospital room right now? Ginger pipes up.

More than I care to think about.

I think we can handle a day­old infant, Margaret asserts.

CJ looks like she's beginning to have second thoughts.

Okay, okay. I hold my hands up in defeat and slip out the door.

***

What on earth is going on out there? 

I can hear David crying, but I can't hear Josh talking to him. 

In the past 24 hours, we've learned our son is fascinated by the sound of his father's voice and will almost instantly stop crying if Josh speaks to him.

I'm food; Dad is comfort.

Weird if you ask me, but it's working for the moment.

Pulling sweats and a t­shirt on, I open the bathroom door to find my room full of the Sisters.

Bonnie is sitting on the edge of the bed trying to calm my baby.

Where's Josh? I take David from her. He throttles back from wailing to whimpering for me, but it is clear, to me at least, he wants his daddy.

Margaret bites the bullet and opens the door. Josh evidently didn't go far, because he's back in a flash.

David snuggles against Josh's chest and the whimpers fade away as Josh starts telling him about how much the Mets suck this year.

I am sickened by this, Carol announces.

Me, too, I mutter.

We brought gifts, Josh, so just sit there and keep your mouth shut, Zoey glares at Josh before he can make a smart assed comment.

Did they ever bring gifts: clothes, toys, a subscription to a diaper service, stuff for me and the promise of babysitting services from Zoey.

All in all, a pretty good haul.


	28. Independence Day

Fucking piece of

Need some help, Mr. Lyman? Nick, one of the White House security guards, comes up to me.

Help? I'm about ready to drop kick this damn car seat.

Why is something so essential to the safety of my son so damn complicated to install?

I pull my head out of the backseat of the Trailblazer. You don't know anything about car seat installation, do you?

I know my sister has one in each car so she doesn't have mess with it, the kid jokes. Let me take a look, sir.

In two minutes, he has the damn thing secured.

Shaking my head in disgust, I have to chuckle. Thanks, Nick. I appreciate it. The damn thing is never coming out.

Not a problem, sir, he steps back and closes the door for me. The rumor mill says your little guy gets to come home today.

I nod. 

Well, congratulations, sir, Nick smiles.

Thanks again for your help, I tell him, climbing into the SUV.

Today is the first day Donna's let me drive it and only because I'm picking her and David up at noon.

Compared to the Mustang, it's like driving a tank.

It's been seventeen very long days. Mamme went home last night. Her being here really helped. Donna and I were actually able to see each other in the evenings for a few hours.

Deb was going to arrive on Monday, but since Freddy received his acceptance letter from Georgetown, she's decided to wait until they move him out here next month.

I'm taking some time in August, once Congress hits its summer recess at the end of July. Donna is actually looking forward a month of quiet mother­son bonding time.

She claims she's going to learn to cook.

***

You got the car seat in? I pester Josh while we're walking out to the parking lot. I have David in his carrier and Josh has everything else we've managed to accumulate in seventeen days in the neonatal intensive care unit.

He's loaded down like a pack mule.

Yes, Donna. Josh's voice filters through bags and blankets. I had expert help.

I start to panic. Who? You didn't let Sam or the President help, did you? 

No! Nick, the security guy in the parking lot. He helped. It's never coming out, Donna. I promise.

While Josh stuffs everything into the back, I put David in the car seat. Josh is right; Nick got it in correctly and securely.

Josh gives me the keys and climbs in the back seat to sit beside David. This being the child's first car ride, Josh is a little nervous.

Okay, we're both a little nervous about everything. Hopefully, this will pass in a week or two, once we get settled at home.

Home now bears a striking resemblance to a Babies R Us' store. The shower gifts were augmented by baby gifts from far and wide. Everyone from Chancellor Muller of Germany and his wife to Lord Marbury, even the Republican Women's Congressional Caucus sent something.

Do you have to go back to work? I ask, settling David into the antique cradle. 

I made Josh move it from the nursery to our bedroom for convenience. Once David is sleeping through the night, it will go back.

Josh sits down on the bed and pulls me down next to him. But the President would like us to join the staff for the fireworks tonight. I told him I'd have to run it past you.

I bite my lower lip, anxious about having David out in public so soon. Although the annual 4th of July staff extravaganza would be a welcome change of pace.

Of course, not being at the hospital 12 hours a day will be a welcome change of pace.

They're watching from the Residence this year, Josh offers. He and Dr. B want to meet David without bothering the world. He said to tell you there wouldn't be a lot of people there.

***

I'm no keener on this than Donna is, but I told the President I'd ask, so I'm asking.

If we go tonight, can we spend the entire weekend at home? Just the three of us? Donna rests her head on my shoulder, her eyes never straying from our son's tiny, sleeping body.

Sounds like a plan, I agree with a smile. You and me and the drool factory.

He does drool a lot, doesn't he? Donna chuckles.

I think it's probably the relief of having David home finally more than my joke was funny, but the two of us sit on the edge of our bed laughing quietly for almost ten minutes.

Until we're interrupted by the source of our amusement.

This is the rest of our lives, isn't it? I ask wearily, trying to determine what David wants. I know the I want my daddy' wail and the there's something smelly and disgusting in my diaper' cry, but I'm still having trouble with the difference between somebody, anybody hold me right now!' and feed me!'

***

Give me that adorable child, Abbey Bartlet demands the instant Josh and I set foot in her presence.

Josh hands him over and takes a step back, so the women can crowd around. Most of them have already seen him once, but he's changed a lot in the past 17 days and they all need to ogle over him again.

How are you feeling, Donna? the First Lady asks, smiling at David's curious grasping. He's managed to snag her finger and seems unsure of what to do with it now.

Pretty good. I started doing some toning exercises to help get things back where they belong and since he hasn't been home, I've actually been sleeping.

All right, make a hole. the President elbows his way between Ginger and Margaret. Abigail, you're hogging the baby.

She reluctantly gives him up, to the amusement of the assembled crowd. I drift out of the way and lean against Josh, who wraps his arm around my waist. I glance up at his face, smiling at the excessive paternal pride plastered on his features.

Hello, David, President Bartlet coos. Aren't you the most handsome guy in the room? Everyone's just treating you like a crown prince, aren't they? You probably just want to be home asleep.

They pass him around and everyone gets to hold him and smile at him. By the time he reaches Toby, he's fussing. 

Too many strangers and too many unsure hands have him way over­stimulated.

***

Toby looks down at the tiny thing he's been handed and David stares back up at him and starts to absolutely wail.

Oddly, I frequently have the same reaction when I look at Toby. 

Donna is trying not to laugh at him while I rescue my son and my friend from one another.

Come here, David, I take him and rest his whimpering five pounds against my shoulder, turning my head so he can hear my voice. Toby's not so bad. He's just unhappy all the time. You're going to have to work on him, okay? Win him over from the dark side.

You've been possessed by the some sort of baby­talking evil spirit? Toby's glare indicates he thinks so.

Toby, your grumpiness doesn't stand a chance in the presence of the completely innocent, I tease him.

***

Josh, having determined this cry means feed me, delivers him to me. When I ask the First Lady where an inconspicuous spot would be, she ushers me off to a small side room.

He's really quite precious, Abbey tells me while I feed him.

He's a carbon­copy of his father, I meet her eyes with a smile. And not just in looks.

You better have another one quick, before Josh can spoil this one rotten, Abbey advises with a laugh.

Speaking of having another one, can I ask you a medical question?

Go ahead.

All the research I did says we need to wait six weeks, at least, to start you know I blush, unable to say the word sex in the presence of the First Lady.

To resume having sex.

Right. But my doctor told me we could start whenever I was comfortable trying it?

Typically, we tell you to wait six weeks because by then, you've stopped bleeding and any tears or stitches have healed. Truthfully, your doctor is probably right. If it doesn't cause you any pain, there's no reason you can't start having sex again when you're ready. And there's no reason you can't just fool around until you are, Abbey smirks at me.

I switch David to the other side and giggle. I read something about the post­baby orgasm.

Donna, dear, if he was doing it right before, you probably won't notice the difference. 

She gives me a knowing look. Rumors of Josh's sexual prowess became legends after election night.

Jed, unlike Josh, was a little slow on the uptake until after Elizabeth was born. Keep in mind, it was the mid­sixties and we were good Catholics. Men just didn't focus on our needs quite the way they did even five years later. I had my first one and it was absolutely incredible. Jed was scared to death, took him a month before he was willing to try having sex again.

There are things you don't need to know about your parents' sex lives, much less the President's.

We have, without a doubt, just crossed that line.

***

Donna looks a trifle disturbed when she returns to the party.

What's wrong? I ask, giving her a kiss and cupping my hand over David's head.

I'll tell you later, she rolls her eyes. Should we stake out a spot?

The bear is guarding a bench for us, I nod towards the balcony where I put the diaper bag and David's stuffed bear.

The party starts to calm down and we all wander outside. The three of us curl up on our bench to watch the fireworks. 

David is not watching so much as he is sleeping.

You tired? I ask when she yawns midway through the display.

A little. It'll be nice to be home for the weekend, she replies, resting her head against my chest.

***

It will be nice to be home as a family for a few days. Something we haven't had a chance to do since David was born. 

Stifling another yawn, I wonder how on earth we're going to alter our hectic lives to accommodate the very real changes we're experiencing.

We glossed over it before. Unsure of what to really expect, neither Josh nor I wanted to commit to changes we weren't sure would be necessary.

The 20­hour days have to go, there's no question about it, but we can probably work from home more. I doubt Leo would be extremely receptive to having David in the office after daycare hours. 

It wouldn't be conducive to getting work done.

As evidence, I offer exhibit one: the President of the United States, the leader of the free world, is ignoring the fireworks to make silly faces at my son.

***

I'm not sure what's funnier, watching President Bartlet playing peek­a­boo with David or Toby shooting looks of annoyance at them.

Leo grabbed me earlier and asked if Donna had decided when she was coming back to work and regardless, he and I needed to sit down and talk over some preliminaries.

Preliminary what, I'm not sure.

I do know my 18 and 20­hour days at the office are unequivocally over. I will not miss the first four years of my son's life for the convenience of the junior whats­it from wherever. 

Donna doesn't want to stay home, but one of us is going to have to work daycare hours.

We just have to discuss which one of us.

I don't think having David in the office before and after hours will be very productive. 

There's only so much pissing and moaning from Toby about the lack of professionalism the baby causes a man can take. 

Fireworks over, Donna and I gather the copious amount of crap we now drag around and head for the car.

Leo walks out with us. 

We'll sit down on Monday, Josh, he tells me, leaning down to say goodbye to David before kissing Donna on the cheek. I'm glad he's home.

***

Hey, Donna? Josh calls from the bathroom where he's brushing his teeth while David has a pre­bedtime snack. How do we look for next Saturday?

For what? I give him a warm smile when he curls up next to me on the bed.

Josh runs a possessive finger over our son's curly brown hair. David's bris.

Bris? You're talking about a circumcision?

Yes. A ritual circumcision. He sounds a little defensive. We agreed to raise the kids Jewish, Donna. This should have been done two weeks ago, but since he was in the hospital, the mohel I talked to said we should wait. I had to specifically ask them not to do it while he was in the NICU.

I just I find myself at a complete loss as I absently start rubbing David's back to burp him. Is it really necessary?

I thought we had an agreement, Josh sighs. I agreed to a Christian wedding with the understanding we would raise our children Jewish. This is important to me, Donna. Please try to understand how important this is to me. I made this promise to my grandfather on his deathbed.

Before I have a chance to respond, Josh gets off the bed and leaves the room. As if he senses the tension in the room, David starts his I want my daddy' cry.

I sigh in frustration and follow Josh into the living room. He's sitting on the couch with his head tilted back and his eyes shut.

If you looked at the two of us and consider we had a baby seventeen days ago, you'd think Josh gave birth, he looks that tired. I start to wonder if he's been sleeping at all.

I'm sorry, I tell him, earnestly, sitting next to him. That's what we agreed to do and I shouldn't be questioning your faith.

Josh settles David against his chest and wraps his arm around my shoulder.

I know it seems kind of barbaric, but it's an important part of being Jewish, Josh tries to explain.

I know and I'm sorry for making it a thing. 

I rest my head on his chest next to David, happy to hear the smile return to his voice. 

Can we talk about godparents?

There are Jewish godparents? That surprises me.

It's honorific, they don't really do anything. But I thought it'd be a way to include our friends in our kids' lives. I wanted to ask Leo ­ if it's okay with you, Josh answers shyly.

Who else?

Did you have a preference?

I'd like to ask Dr. Bartlet, but what do you think she'd say? She's done a lot for me personally and I'd like to show her I haven't taken her support for granted.

I think she'd be thrilled.

Talking about the First Lady reminds me of our conversation from earlier and the reason I asked.

You know what would thrill me? I whisper in my husband's ear.

he turns to face me.

A fireworks display of our own. I lean in and capture his surprised lips with mine.

Our tongues reacquaint themselves until Josh pulls away, catching his breath.

Can we do this already? he asks, eyebrows pulling together and his forehead wrinkling in confusion. I thought we had to wait until I don't know something.

***

Me to be ready. 

Donna's broken out the seductive voice. The one that makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up in anticipation and makes Spongebob stick his head out of my boxers to see what's going on.

Basically, this voice resulted in the little guy resting on my chest.

I'm going to put David down, then. I give Donna a peck on the cheek.

Moving slowly so as not to wake him, I gently place him on his back and cover him with a warm, soft, baby­sized afghan Donna's grandmother made.

Turning around, I find Donna standing behind me. She's wearing old flannel pajama bottoms and one of my old button­down shirts; her hair is mussed and she's not wearing any make­up.

I don't think she could be any more beautiful if she tried.

***

Are you sure we can do this? Josh's voice is husky with the desire I can see sticking out of his boxers.

Honey, I had a conversation with the First Lady of the United States of America about resuming our sex life. Trust me when I tell you we can do this, I reply swaying my hips as I close the gap between us.

He reaches for my hand and my lips simultaneously. I feel a flash of soreness when our hips meet, but ignore it in favor of the more appealing feel of his tongue against mine.

I love you so much, he breathes, moving to nibble on my jaw line.

Mm hmm, I moan, pressing into his kisses.

Josh is wearing his ratty, old Mets shirt and I run my hands up the sides. His body is hot to my touch and his skin feels so good under my hands.

It's only been seventeen days. We went longer during the campaign, but this is almost like the first time. Josh's hands run lightly across my back.

I tilt my head back and let him wander downward. Buttons are undone one at a time, each one reveals a little more for him to nip.

***

Donna is almost offering herself up to me. 

Not that I don't worship her, because I do.

But if she's not ready, then I don't want to push her.

I settle for going slowly. Once the shirt is undone, I slide it off her shoulders and guide her back to the bed so we don't inadvertently bump the cradle and wake David.

Before I lie down next to her I shed my t­shirt and shorts, careful to make sure I toss them on the floor. She's been fastidious about her exercises and her stomach is almost back to its pre­pregnancy flatness. Of course, she didn't have a whole lot of weight to lose

The adorable little outie of a belly button seems to be a permanent change, though, and I bend down to attend it while my hand caresses her hips. From her moans, I can tell Donna enjoys what I'm doing.

Her encouragement makes me feel more comfortable and my tentative touch becomes surer.

***

Josh seems to be getting over his nervousness and sets off exploring with his tongue. His thumbs skimming over my breasts however betray his remaining apprehension. 

He doesn't want to touch them, but can't seem to help himself.

They aren't going to squirt you, I moan, pressing up to his touch.

They aren't mine any more, he whispers. His lips have wandered to my ear while his hands linger at the Wonder Twins.

Isn't David a little young for a set of his own? Shouldn't we tell him about the birds and the bees first? Maybe get him a set with training wheels or something? I tease, trying to get him to at least kiss around the nipples.

It's a powerful feeling when David nurses, but I feel it deep inside when Josh lavishes attention on them.

You're never too young for your first set, Donnatella, he replies, giving in and running his thumbs over my nipples until they tighten.

I gasp and sink into the mattress. Josh smirks against my neck and begins his trek downward again. He lips find every inch of my skin and his fingers trace my few, faint stretch marks, but he keeps himself out of my reach.

Relax, Donna, he chastises me with the dimples.

***

Her mouth, her full pouty lips beg to be kissed and I succumb to their allure. 

Please, Josh. Donna asks, opening her eyes and reaching up to touch my chest. 

Her fingers run over my scars and up to my ears, searching out the spot.

She grimaces a bit and I wait until her legs tighten around my waist, carefully watching her reaction.

I grind out, before repeating the movement.

She nods, but bites her lower lip.

Donna, if it hurts I trail off when she rocks her hips against mine.

I lean in to nibble a long expanse of alabaster neck.

***

I thought I was ready but in just seconds, I realize this is a mistake. I didn't understand how sore I still am. 

I can feel how ready he is though, and let him continue out of a sense of obligation, even after he asks if I'm okay.

Biting down on my lip, I struggle to contain the moans of pain welling up inside me. Nothing he does feels good and I close my eyes, content to ache until he finishes.

***

Looking up from her neck, I see her eyes are closed again, but discomfort contorts her face, causing me to stop what I'm doing. My desire vanishes at the thought of causing her pain during our lovemaking.

She opens her eyes.

***

I can wait, baby, he whispers, stroking my cheek with his finger. If it hurts, we can wait.

Josh's gentle words bring tears to my eyes. I just

he lies down and pulls me to his chest. We'll just cuddle, okay? We'll kiss and we'll fool around, but no intercourse until you're really ready.

What about you? I wipe at my tears.

I'm sure you'll think of something, he answers, kissing the top of my head. Are you ready for bed?

We crawl under the covers and snuggle together. Just as I start to drift off, I can hear David fussing.

Get him for me? I whine, unwilling to get out of the warmth of our bed and walk all the way around.

Due to someone's poor planning skills, the cradle is on Josh's side of the bed.

Why me? he groans. And didn't you just do this?

First of all, you're closer. Secondly, babies can be hungry right after they eat, I inform him. Just get up, grab him and hand him to me.

Josh does as he's told and while David snacks again, Josh dozes lightly.

Why can't he just sleep with us? Josh asks suddenly when I start to get up. 

No fooling around with the baby in the bed, though. I lay down the rule.

***

Donna snuggles David between us and I roll onto my side, facing them both and Donna does the same.

She's tired and falls asleep before long, leaving my son wide­awake, staring at me.

Not that he can see me very well yet.

You had a big day today, didn't you? I ask him softly, smiling when he wraps his hand around my pinky finger and moves the whole ensemble toward his mouth.

He's a fist­sucker, our David. Which is fine with me, since Donna is adamant there will be no pacifiers.

You got out of the hospital and visited the White House. The President thinks you're somebody pretty special, I keep up my monologue around my yawn. Not as special as I do, though.


	29. The Mamas & The Papas

You're upset.

Josh is slouched on the couch watching ESPN with the baby when I wander into the living room. From the set of his shoulders, it's obvious he's not over yesterday's squabble.

Despite our attempt at make­up sex.

My concern grows when he doesn't reply and he flinches when I put my hand on his arm. 

I know what we agreed on, Josh, and I'm not asking you to change it.

Josh finally speaks when he hands me our son. He's probably hungry. I'm going out for a run.

David isn't hungry. He's fussy and restless. I lay him on a blanket on the floor and grab the cordless. 

Josh and I have been together for almost two years, married for four months. This is the first time I've ever done this.

***

Moss Residence.

Hi, Mom. I start crying the instant I hear her voice.

Donna? What's wrong?

I'm sobbing so hard I can barely breath.

Is it David? Where's Josh, dear?

Running. David's fine, but

My mother becomes instantly calm and commanding. Take a deep breath, Donnatella and tell me what's the matter.

I did something, said something and upset Josh. We talked about it and I thought it was okay but this morning he won't talk to me and doesn't want to touch me

Start at the beginning, Donna. What happened last night?

Josh and I have an agreement. I can hear Mom nodding her head on the other end of the phone. The great agreement we both flaunted. We talked about everything before we got married and we compromised on the things that were most important to each of us. I really wanted to get married at home in our church and Josh was adamant about raising our children Jewish. That's what I agreed to.

Oh, Donnatella, Mom sighs. What did you say?

Her disappointment starts my tears fresh. Josh wants to plan a circumcision for David, now that he's home. I sort of freaked when he brought it up and asked him if it was really necessary.

What did Josh say?

By the sound of Mom's voice I can tell she wants to reach through the phone and shake me.

He said we had an agreement and he was living up to his end of it and how he was trying really hard to include my family in our lives and that he even named David after Grandpa out of respect

I said I was sorry, I tell her. And Josh seemed to accept my apology.

Then what happened? 

We started fooling around, I blush. 

Talking to my mother about sex is worse than talking about it with Dr. Bartlet.

What happened this morning?

He and David were up when I got up. I could tell he was still upset, but when I tried to talk to him, he handed me David and said he was going for a run.

Donna, I'm not going to take sides in your marriage, but I will tell you this. You and Josh need to sit down and reaffirm your agreement. If either of you thinks you can't trust the other to do what was agreed upon before you got married, how can you be expected to trust one another now? Be open and honest, but remember you've already gotten what was most important to you. Josh trusted you enough to wait for what was most important to him.

How is it your mother always makes you feel twelve again when she gives you advice?

***

I feel my annoyance dissipate leaving in its place confusion and distress each time my feet hit the sidewalks of our Georgetown neighborhood.

One question still dogs me as I reach the small park a couple of miles from the apartment. Bending over the water fountain to douse my face, I ask myself again, why Donna didn't tell me I was hurting her last night?

If I try hard enough, I can give her the benefit of the doubt regarding the bris. Leading up to the wedding, there were more than a few times when I wanted to say ÔI don't want to do it this way', but I sucked it up and gave Donna what she wanted. 

Last night, she did the same. I have no doubt we had our first and last cantankerous discussion about the religious upbringing of our children.

That was the whole point of talking about it in advance. 

Right?

Shaking my head, I meander over to the unoccupied swing set and indulge my inner­child while pondering the mysterious workings of my wife's brain.

Why wouldn't she tell me I was hurting her last night? I ask myself over and over. I didn't need to make love to her badly enough for her to be in pain.

I asked if it hurt. I would have stopped. I did stop when I saw the look on her face.

I sway back and forth on the swing until the shrill ring of my phone interrupts my brooding over whether post­baby hormones have anything to do with Donna's behavior.

The caller ID says it's Mom.

Great.

Hey, Mamme, I answer.

What's wrong, Joshua? she asks instantly.

I swear my mother is telepathic.

I don't know. I scuff the heels of my shoes in the dirt.

Is something the matter with David? 

No, no, he's fine, I assure her. In fact, plan on next Saturday for the bris. Since we couldn't do it eight days after his birth, the mohel suggested 8 days after he came home.

Something happen with Donna?

I sigh, but try to explain. We had an argument last night,but we worked it out and then we 

I don't need the details, Joshua, her wry tone makes me smile despite my confusion.

Well, actually, that's sort of the problem. I was worried it would hurt her, you know? It's only been three weeks and I thought she might still be kind of sore. Anyway, she said she was ready and we were, you know and I look at her and she was almost crying, Mamme. I asked her if it hurt and she lied to me and let me

Oh, Joshua.

Why would she do that? I whine plaintively, fully aware I sound like I'm five years old, wanting to know why my sister stole my teddy bear.

I don't know, son. You should probably ask Donna that question.

Well, duh. The problem is I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

***

I'm no longer hysterical when I get off the phone with my mother.

Which is good, because the next call is from my mother­in­law.

Donna, dear, she says when I answer the phone.

Hi, Elisa, I dab at my still­watery eyes with a clean burp rag.

How's my grandson? she asks, leaving me to wonder if she's talked to Josh already this morning. He always takes his cell when he runs.

I can't help but smile at him. He calmed down while I was on the phone with my mother.

I just wanted to check with you and see if my coming up Friday morning was a problem?

Well, that pretty much answers my question about her talking to Josh.

Not at all, Elisa. Did you want to stay here? You're more than welcome to the couch, I offer.

Oh no, dear. I'll stay with Leo. It'll be easier on all of us.

Elisa doesn't want to stay here? Elisa always stays here when she visits.

Oh God. I've offended my mother­in­law somehow.

Have you talked to Josh this morning? I ask, thinking I can practice apologizing on her.

I have and I'll tell you the same thing I told him, dear, she says kindly. You two need to sit down and talk about what happened.

I know, I sigh. I'm sorry, Elisa.

Marriages, like children, are sometimes a little messy, Donna. You are both adult enough to clean it up and get on with life. I'll see you on Friday.

***

After I hang up from the extremely unsatisfying conversation with my mother, I call the only person I know who will sit me down and explain this to me like I'm an idiot.

CJ.

She agrees to meet me at a coffeehouse near the park I'm in and promises to pay, since I have no cash on me.

What did you do? CJ wastes no time in cutting to the chase when I join her. 

She hands me a couple of napkins to mop the sweat off my face. It's still early in the day, but the July humidity is already stifling.

Donna wanted to try having sex last night. I'm whispering in deference to the three reporters I recognize in line at the counter and the four old people at the next table.

It was her idea, right? You didn't pressure her or anything?

No! I mean, it was her idea, I hiss. I kept asking her if she was okay and she kept saying she was fine. Except she wasn't. We were

In the throes of passion? CJ fills in blandly.

I scoot closer to the table and hunch my shoulders forward as I explain the events of the previous evening.

When I'm finished, she gives me a look of amusement crossed with envy. I wish I had a relationship where the biggest problem was how soon we could have sex after we had kids.

CJ! That's not what this is about. I want to know why she would lie to me about it? Besides, it was make­up sex. We had a spat earlier, but I shrug.

My friend contemplates me for a few minutes while she sips her espresso. Okay, I'm going to ask a question against my better judgment, because this is information I really don't want. Had Donna already had an orgasm?

Well, yeah. I didn't just throw her down and do her. From the look the old lady behind CJ just gave me, I might have defended myself a little loudly.

Ah, okay. You need to talk to Donna, but my guess is reciprocity, she nods to herself.

I'm confused.

Right. Payback. She got hers, so she felt obligated to

A light bulb goes off in my head and suddenly it all makes sense. The argument, the make­up sex, everything.

I could very well be wrong, though. I'm serious, you two need to talk.

Pitching my paper cup, I stand up to go. Thanks, CJ. You've been a huge help.

Yeah, well, she waves at me on my way out the door.

***

Josh is usually hungry when he gets home from a run and seeing as he's been gone for over two hours, I think he's going to be very hungry. 

Since make­up sex is out of the question for a while longer, I'll try make­up food.

I set David's bouncy seat on the kitchen table, lay his still sleeping form in it and go about making breakfast while I try to figure out how to best apologize for last night. Just thinking about it makes me want to bawl again.

I'm beginning to wonder how much of this entire incident is hormonal.

***

Bounding up the stairs, the smell of latkes wafts from our apartment.

I call from the living room.

She's dressed in boxers and an old t­shirt of mine when she comes out of the kitchen.

she says, her lower lip quivering.

What's the matter? I ask, closing the distance between us and taking the spatula from her hand.

I'm sorry, she sobs, throwing her arms around my neck. I didn't mean to offend you. I know I agreed, but I just had a moment when you started

I coo. It's okay, baby. I just wish you had said it hurt. I never want to hurt you, Donna.

Hurt me? She pulls back a little bit to look me in the eye. What are you talking about?

Last night, I tell her. When we were making love.

***

I thought you were mad at me because you thought I was going back on our agreement to raise the kids Jewish.

Josh shakes his head. You said last night you were okay with it.

I know. But you were upset this morning and you wouldn't say why and I thought it was because of that.

Josh brings his thumb up to wipe away the tears running down my face. I never, ever want to hurt you. You just laid there last night and let me hurt you.

I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't think it would until you were inside me and then I thought I could just hold on until you finished. I didn't realize you'd be this upset. 

Upset might be an understatement.

It felt like I was forcing you almost Josh stops what he was going to say and pulls me to his chest and hugs me tightly. Always tell me, baby, please. I don't want you to ever feel like you have to make love to me. I'd never force you to It isn't just sex, Donna. It's something deeper. It's trust and acceptance and sharing. I love you more than anything.

Deeply touched by his words, I'm almost speechless. The only words I can think of seem small in comparison.

I love you, too.

We stand there for a minute longer, clinging to each other as though we've been separated for years.

Josh asks when we finally let go.

***

Why are you making latkes? I sniff at the air again. Well, why are you burning latkes?

I thought you might be hungry? Donna's downcast expression tempers my sarcastic response.

Do me a favor? I lead her into the kitchen and dump the blackened potato pancakes into the garbage disposal.

Leave the Jewish cooking to my mother, I pour the batter after the cakes. She screwed something up. Latke batter shouldn't be green.

It was make­up food. She sits at the table beside David and lets him grab onto her finger. 

Make­up food? I laugh. Since we can't have make­up sex?

Sort of? An embarrassed smile tugs at her lips.

How about I cook, since I was pretty much an asshole this morning? I shouldn't have left without working things out.

French toast? Donna perks up. And don't swear in front of David.

Sure. Then we can all watch Spongebob.

Donna shakes her head at me. He can't see the TV yet, Joshua.

It's never too early to start watching cartoons, Donnatella.

***

On Monday morning, CJ waits until the staff meeting breaks up to pull me aside.

Did you two work it out? she whispers.

Yeah. It was a gigantic misunderstanding. She thought I was upset about one thing and then we talked about the other thing. It's all good, CJ, I assure her.

Leo is hovering near the President's desk, waiting to talk to me as well.

What's up? I ask, following Leo into his office.

Has Donna decided how long she's going to take? He gestures for me to have a seat and leans against his desk.

She's coming back on September 1st, I answer. It works out to almost eleven weeks.

The EEOB daycare is open from 7 a.m. until 7 p.m. Monday through Friday, Leo points out. Have you thought about how that's going to affect things?

I shrug. We talked about a nanny, but Donna thinks if we put David in daycare not only it will cost less, he'll develop some independence and social skills.

That wasn't what I was referring to, he crosses his arms and gives me an exasperated glare.

I look down at my shoes and take a deep breath. 

I know, I just don't know how you're going to react when I tell you those are the hours Donna's going to work when she comes back. I look up at him.

He purses his lips and nods his head, obviously thinking about how to phrase his reply. What about you?

I'm going to be around for my son, Leo, I reply vaguely, yet firmly. However it needs to happen.

David is welcome in the White House any time, for any reason and for any length of time, Leo mentions. He's trying to be casual about his offer, but it's a lifeline to me. We'll move you out of your office and turn it into a play room or something.

I chuckle until I realize he's serious about the second part.

I appreciate it, Leo. Really. I stand up to go. Are you busy Saturday morning?

He frowns, mentally checking his schedule. I should be. What's up?

We're having a brit milah for David at the apartment, I explain. We'd like you to come and celebrate with us.

Of course, I'd be honored. Your mother is staying with me anyway. Leo jerks his head towards the open door to the Oval Office. You inviting the boss?

I shove my hands in my pockets. I don't want them to feel obligated, you know? It's a pain in the ass for him to go anywhere and to spend a couple of hours in Georgetown? The Secret Service would scream bloody murder.

About what? President Bartlet wanders through the open door.

How's your schedule for Saturday morning? Leo asks him.

I don't know. The new secretary, whatever her name is, is in charge of the schedule. Why? The President is in one of those moods.

Fabulous and I get to spend all day with him.

The Lymans are having a bris for David Saturday morning and Josh here thinks it would be a pain in the Secret Service's ass for you and Abbey to attend, Leo smirks.

President Bartlet turns to me.

They're playing with me. I'm the cornered mouse and they're the cats.

You and the First Lady are more than welcome, if your schedules permit, sir. I wouldn't think of excluding you. I reply.

Good, good. I'd hate to miss something so important in that young man's life. As my girls have seen fit to not provide me with one of my own, I'm adopting yours as my grandson. Informally, you understand, he waves his hand in the general direction of the Residence. Abbey feels the same way.

Thank you, sir, I'm touched.

Now, a bris, that's a circumcision, correct?

Yes, sir. God, please don't make me explain it.

They can't just do it at the hospital? 

No, sir. There's a whole thing that goes with it.

So what should we expect?

A nice little ceremony in Hebrew, sir. It's a little complicated to explain.

Alright, Josh. I'll let you off the hook, he takes pity on me and turns to go. Let Charlie know what time. I don't trust whatshername.

***

Saturday, the 12th of July dawns with minimal fuss. 

Elisa arrived yesterday and assured me I hadn't done anything to upset her. She thought it would simply be less crowded if she stayed with Leo. Josh made it home at a reasonable hour and made a nice dinner for the three of us.

David is nestled safely between our pillows, sleeping soundly. He's only waking up once or twice a night at this point and since I fed him around 3, I figure we've got a little time before he starts demanding our attention again.

You know the American Pediatric Association discourages co­sleeping, Josh mumbles, cracking his eyes open.

Where did you hear that? I ask, reaching out and running my thumb along Josh's cheek.

Mona, Presidential secretary number 105, randomly gifted that information on me the other day.

Josh's hand reaches up and wraps around mine, bringing it to his lips. We've been fooling around a little since the Ôincident,' mostly kissing and oral stimulation.

My blow job skills are top notch these days.

We meet mere inches above our son, seeking out one another's lips and tongues until a little hand flails up and interrupts us. Guess we don't have any time to fool around.

David, leave your daddy alone, he's trying to get some. I giggle as disappointment flits across Josh's face when he realizes he's going to have to wait.

I'll go make coffee, Josh groans.

The only good thing about David's timing is he usually goes back to sleep after he eats. It's a little after seven right now, Elisa is supposed to be here around eight to help us get ready, the mohel guy is going to be here at 10 and the thing starts at 11.

David lets go of my breast on his own and I rub his back until he burps, then offer him the other side. He doesn't seem too interested, preferring to chew on his fist. His feeding patterns have shifted in the past couple of days and he isn't eating as often as he was when he first came home. 

He's finished already? Josh returns with my orange juice and his own coffee.

The fingers are tastier, I joke.

If I had those options, I know which one I'd pick. His voice deepens and his eyes meet mine.

I hand David over to Josh. I fed him. You change him, then we can talk options.

***

I linger a moment at the cradle until David's eyes begin to close and his little mouth opens in a huge yawn. 

This eating and growing stuff is hard work, isn't it? I whisper, leaning down and kissing his forehead. You just go on back to sleep, little bear.

Crawling back onto the bed, I snuggle close enough to Donna to feel the heat radiating from her. Placing one hand lightly on her inner thigh, my lips seek out her long neck.

She sighs and sinks back against the pillow, her own hand reaching down to fondle Spongebob. It feels as though every drop of blood in my body detours to my groin and I moan into her skin.

I need you, Donna whispers breathlessly.

Our love­making is short and frantic as we try to rediscover one another and fulfill our own desires.

Are you okay? I finally ask, opening my eyes to see her dazzling blue ones looking down at me.

You can do it harder next time. She grinds her pelvis against mine and Spongebob jumps a little bit, but he's done for the morning.

I ask, my heart melting at the mischievous grin on her face.

***

Oh, yeah, I nod, then look at the clock. 

It's 7:45. We need to get moving, but I'm content to stay here with Josh inside me for as long as I can.

My mother's going to be here soon, Josh groans. With Leo.

You don't think they're I tease him. You know Doing what we were doing?

You think my mother and Leo are doing to horizontal mambo? Josh rockets into a sitting position, dislodging me.  


Come on, Josh. She's an adult woman. She has needs. Parents have sex. That's how we ended up with siblings.

I love messing with his head.

At least I think I'm messing with his head.

Elisa told me there was nothing going on back in March, but what if she was messing with my head?

Parents do not have sex! he insists, lying back down.

Um, babe? I snuggle next to him, resting my head on his chest, one leg thrown haphazardly over his, my hand tracing random paths on his skin.

They don't!

What did we just do then? I ask, enjoying the feel of his hand on my naked back.

We're attempting to give our son a sibling?

Can I be not be pregnant for a while? I'm enjoying being able to see my toes.

I guess, Josh whines playfully.

I was just saying, I smack him gently for changing the subject, that we, as parents, are having sex. Therefore it would logically follow that our parents have sex, even if it means your mother is having sex with Leo.

Josh shudders at the mental picture I've given him. Ew! Donna!

Your mother isn't that old either, I continue, straight­faced, wondering just how far I can take this. It might still be possible for David to have an aunt or an uncle from your side of the family.

Josh screeches at me for even suggesting such a thing. That's just wrong!

He jumps out of bed, shaking his head in disgust on his way to the shower. The water is barely running before a knock at the front door announces Elisa and Leo's arrival.

***

The hot spray washes the images of my mother with Leo from my mind. 

I seriously have to get over this. 

I don't even understand why the idea of my mother dating bothers me so much. Besides, if I had to pick out a guy I would probably pick Leo. I guess if I had to have a stepfather, I'd want it to be somebody I already look to that way.

My brain runs circles around their relationship while I shower out of habit, somehow always coming to rest on the fact that now matter how ably he has stepped in, Leo isn't my father. My dad has been dead for over five years and even if Mamme is seeing Leo, he won't ever be my dad.

This is one of those days when my heart aches because he's gone. I can just imagine how proud he'd be of David. My dad was the kind of guy who tortured people with pictures of his kids. He never got over losing Joanie, but never made me feel less than loved. Even after I'd moved to Washington, my 5th grade Little League picture was the one prominently displayed on his desk at the firm, right next to a picture of Joanie playing the piano at a recital when she was 10.

Working the shampoo into my hair, I'm suddenly struck by the sight of a curly­haired little boy in a too­big barber's chair with an older man kneeling beside him, calming his fearful whimpers. I, for the life of me, can't decide if this is a long forgotten memory or a prognostic vision of the future.

As part of this morning's ritual, the rabbi will announce David's Hebrew name, the name by which he will be called to the Torah. I have given it little thought until now. Much in the same way I decided the name on his birth certificate, I figured it would just come to me at the right moment.

I discover my electric razor is dead once I've got shaving gel on my face. Digging under the sink for one of Donna's disposables, I find a scuffed leather package. I know what's inside without opening it: the antique straight­blade razor my father gave me the day of my bar mitzvah. 

_You're a man now, son. I'm entrusting this to you like your grandfather did to me and his father did to him. When the time is right, you'll give it to your son.'_

The blade is still sharp after all these years and I dredge up memories of the lessons my grandfather gave me in using it. I can still feel his gnarled old hands guiding mine as we shaved the pre­pubescent peach fuzz from my thirteen­year­old face while Dad watched with amusement.

I'd never been so proud of myself as I was when I finished reading from the Torah that Sabbath, not so much for what I'd accomplished but for doing what my father expected me to do. I'll never forget the raw emotion on the faces of my father and grandfather. It's something I want my son to experience, a feeling I want him to understand, a pride I want to have in him.

It's a journey we'll start today.

***

Donna, Leo and I are sitting in the living room, relaxing after the departure of our guests. 

Everything went off with out a hitch this morning; the only thing out of whack is Josh.

Since Leo and I got here, he's been distant and pensive. I haven't had a chance to talk to him privately, so I'm not sure what's bothering him.

Right now he's in the bedroom putting David down. My grandson has been up most of the day and is in dire need of a quiet nap.

I'm going to check on Josh, I announce, getting off the sofa. I'm not oblivious to the grateful look Donna gives me.

I find him sitting on the bed rocking the antique cradle.

I place my hand on his back and sit next to him.

he greets me quietly.

What's the matter? I rub his back like I did when he was little and upset about something.

His whispered is completely unconvincing.

Don't lie to me, Joshua. This isn't still about last weekend is it? I thought you and Donna talked things out.

I'm not, it isn't and we did. His voice never rises above a whisper and his eyes never stray from David as he rocks the cradle slowly.

In the half­light of the bedroom, he looks so much like Noah it makes my heart jump.

Your father would be so proud of you, I tell him, resting my head against his shoulder. 

Joshua's arm encircles my body and in a rare moment, he shows me his soul and his vulnerability. I miss him, Mamme. There are so many questions I want to ask him and he's not here to answer. I thought it would get easier, you know? As time goes by, but now now I want him here and

I miss him, too, Joshua. You picked a beautiful way to honor him today. 

I admit I was surprised when Josh named his first­born son after a member of Donna's family. I haven't asked the significance; I simply accepted he had his reasons. I was touched beyond words when the rabbi announced the child's Hebrew name as Noah ben Joshua at the end of the ceremony this morning.

I gather myself together, getting the impression Joshua really doesn't want to talk right now. Standing up, I squeeze his shoulder before I go. You know Leo's here for you if you need him, right?

Even in the dim light, I can see him tense and his jaw set.

Something about Leo is bothering him, but his body language tells me there is nothing to gain by prying further. Leaving him be, I head back to the living room.

***

Josh is seriously worrying me. As quiet as he's been all day, he got even quieter after the conversation with his mother in the bedroom. Elisa and Leo left shortly thereafter, planning on spending a peaceful day together.

It's not natural for Josh to be this withdrawn.

Right now, he's lying on the floor with David playing with the Rolly Cow my sister sent us.

What's the matter? I ask, sitting next to him.

He tips the round­bottomed toy over before he answers. I don't know. I just

Your mom and Leo?

Sort of, he mumbles, intent on the cow's swaying ears.

Look at me? I ask softly, wanting to see his eyes.

He rolls onto his back and I recognize the pain in his eyes. It's a less intense version of what was there after I told him his dad had died.

Taking his hand, I squeeze it supportively. Leo's not trying to replace your dad.

I know, it's just that Dad was I don't know He was always there for me and

I interrupt, keying on the one thing troubling him that I can reassure him about. 

We're gonna screw the kid up. It's inevitable. I succeed in getting a wry smile from him. We're both nervous about the whole parenting thing. The best we can do is try. Don't you think I'm insecure, too? This is as new to me as it is to you. We're going to be fine because we're going to do this together. We're going to love him

And hug him and call him George? Josh finishes, sitting up.

You've been watching too many cartoons, I chuckle before giving him a searching look.

He shrugs under my scrutiny, but whatever has been weighing him down today seems a bit lighter.

This thing with Leo and your mom isn't going to go away. You need to work it out. 

They did seem pretty chummy today. I'm starting to wonder whether there's something going on between them and what the implications of that are for Josh's relationship with Leo. In retrospect, that and our conversation this morning are probably what started Josh thinking about his dad.

I know, he sighs. I just always thought

Your mom would stay true to your dad forever?

Josh, if, God forbid, you died tomorrow, would you expect me to be alone for the rest of my life? I ask, partially afraid of his answer.

I guess not, he answers after thinking it over.

I wouldn't expect you to be either. Why do you expect your mom to be?

Because she's my mom and he's my dad and that's the only way I can see it. His admission comes in a guilt­ridden whisper. I want her to be happy, but it still hurts, you know?

I wrap my arms around him and hold him close. It's okay, baby. We're going to be fine and David's going to grow up and idolize you the way you idolize your dad. It's inevitable. He already thinks you're cooler than I am. Don't worry about the past, Josh. Leave it there, let's concentrate on the future.


	30. 6 Weeks & a Wakeup

I am a firm believer in schedules. Five years as Josh's assistant impressed upon me the importance of having them and adhering to them, whether Josh likes it or not.

Babies, like Josh, require schedules whether they realize it or not.

The problem I have is this: my baby is also Josh's baby. 

Like his father, David prefers to set his own schedule, no matter how inconvenient it is for me, and then frequently changes it without bothering to inform me.

After weeks of false starts and failed attempts, we've finally found a routine that currently seems to work for all of us.

I take care of the 3 a.m. feeding, letting Josh sleep through it. He gets up at 5 and goes for his run. When he gets back, David is usually just waking again. He changes the baby's diaper and makes coffee before getting me up to feed the child again while he showers.

Josh is done getting dressed about the same time David is done with breakfast. Dad then reads the editorials in the Post to his son while they watch CNN and I get myself cleaned up.

It's naptime when Josh leaves for work, giving me some personal peace in the morning to watch the sunrise and the Today Show. 

That Matt Lauer guy is pretty hot.

This morning, I'm bending over the cradle to settle David in for his morning nap when I am suddenly overcome by nausea.

I'm still crouching in front of the toilet vomiting when Josh's cool hands gather the hair out of my face. I thought he'd already headed out the door.

I feel fine. I protest weakly, letting my husband pamper me anyway.

This is three days in a row, he whispers, obviously having been more observant than I thought he was. You should see a doctor.

I have an appointment this morning with Dr. Williams for my six week check­up, I reply after rinsing my mouth out.

Not that I think this is anything serious. I just didn't think it could happen so soon.

Granted, Josh and I resumed having sex the day David came home from the hospital, but still

Damn.

After assuring Josh I'll be fine, I send him off to work and get dressed. My appointment is at 9.

***

The bullpen is a disaster when I get to the office. 

Chris is leisurely browsing through stacks of legal journals trying to absorb everything our leading candidate for the Supreme Court ever wrote.

Debbie is polishing off a Danish and arguing with somebody on the phone. 

Neither of them has filed a thing in the past six weeks and the paperwork is starting to overwhelm the available space.

Donna's office is a repository for all the things they don't want to do. I've been trying to convince them to actually put the stuff where it belongs, but it seems to be beyond them. 

Not unlike my schedule.

My hastily scribbled notes seem to indicate I'm supposed to be in the Oval Office all day. There's a copy of the President's agenda for the day on my chair, so that must be what it means. I pick it up and glance through it to see what kind of day it will be.

Since the day started ten minutes ago, I'm going to assume it's going to be one of those days.

I skid through the outer office into the Senior Staff meeting, drawing a look of pity from Charlie as I dash past.

Nice of you to join us, Leo's acerbic comment interrupts Sam's recital of where we're at in the Supreme Court nomination process.

A report I was supposed to present.

Shit!

***

The nurses and receptionist at the OB's office make the requisite cooing noises over the baby while I wait.

Donna Lyman? Dr. Williams calls, to the dismay of the assembled thong. Come on back.

Leave him here, Cindy, the front desk receptionist, says. I'll watch him.

David seems fascinated by the woman's large, outlandish earrings and she seems taken by his dimples, so I leave them to entertain one another.

How are you feeling? Dr. Williams asks once I get up on the exam table. Sore nipples, spotting, bleeding?

I've been sick the past couple of mornings, I offer, pretty sure I'm blushing.

She raises an eyebrow at me and shakes her head before pulling out a syringe, easily reading between the lines. Can the man not keep his hands off of you?

Isn't this physically impossible? I give up my arm so she can draw blood for the test.

Six weeks? she asks, tilting her head as she considers my question. Impossible? No. Uncommon? Yes.

***

Everything okay? President Bartlet inquires after the room empties. We have about five minutes between the end of Senior Staff and the beginning of today's first meeting.

Yes, sir. Everything's fine, I lie, my thoughts alternating between Donna puking her guts out the past few days and the mess in the bullpen.

he announces, glancing at the door to Leo's office. We've got a couple of minutes. Sit down and tell me what the problem is between you and the man.

I wasn't even thinking about Leo or his relationship with my mother. Which is rare lately; that subject has been occupying a disproportionate amount of my time.

Josh, you haven't let yourself be alone in a room with Leo since the David's bris three weeks ago. What's going on?

It's nothing, sir. I have no desire to get into this today. Especially with the President. Things are just fine between Leo and I.

He snorts, but Charlie knocks and announces the first appointment of the day before he can comment.

***

I'm pregnant again.

Oh God.

I'm not even sure what I can handle one baby and I'm going to have two of them? Both under the age of one?

Oh God.

What is Josh going to say?

I know we keep saying we'll have as many kids as we have, but I'm almost certain we both figured there would a little time between them.

Like a year or so.

***

All in all, sir, we don't think the information is reliable enough to raise the threat level, Chuck Hills finishes. 

Chuck is the former CEO of a government defense contractor. He was unanimously confirmed by the Senate as the Director of Homeland Security three weeks ago. He's been doing a tremendous job of banging heads together at both the CIA and the FBI and gearing up for the departmental consolidation coming down the pike in the next few months.

They're still keeping an eye on that potential cell in Florida? the President asks, closing the briefing folder and standing.

Yes, sir, Chuck replies.

Excellent. Keep up the good work. Bartlet ushers the man and his aides towards the door.

Yes, sir.

He shakes his head after he closes the door behind them, turning his attention back to me. Now, where were we? Oh, that's right. There's nothing wrong between you and Leo.

A glance at the clock on his desk informs me the meeting with Hills went 15 minutes short and with the scheduled break, President Bartlet has almost thirty minutes to harangue me about Leo.

That's correct, sir. There's nothing wrong between Leo and I, I repeat, deciding to try to make an escape. Sir? I really could use this time to check in with my assistants. With Donna being out

He looks vaguely disappointed but waves me off for the moment. You can run, but you can't hide. You're locked in here all day with me.

The scene I find in the bullpen hasn't changed from earlier. The phones are ringing off the hook, Chris is ignoring them and Debbie is

Where's Debbie?

Chris looks up from his reading. She went to Communications to talk to somebody about something.

Would it kill either of you to file the shit you've piled up in Donna's office? I growl, staring at a stack of reports in danger of toppling off a cabinet.

I thought you wanted this research done on Smith?

I want the research done. I want Donna's office cleaned up. I want the bullpen to not look like a tornado just blew through it! And, I'd like one of the TWO of you to show enough initiative to be trusted with scheduling! My voice gets incrementally louder throughout my rant until I've managed to bring what work was being done to a complete halt.

Debbie returned at some point between research and the tornado reference and now looks set to run off and bawl. Ed and Larry are lurking a few desks away, looking fascinated at the computer printout they're both holding. The rest of the staff sits in stunned silence for a heartbeat until the phones start ringing again and life resumes.

Get it done! I demand, turning on my heel and heading back to the Oval Office. Being pestered about Leo is better than dealing with laziness and incompetence.

***

Despite the plethora of baby stuff we got as gifts, I've discovered David needs more clothes. Since I'm out and about already, I'm going to just take care of some shopping. It's a sign from above that the stroller is still in the Blazer. David fell asleep during the ride from the pediatrician's office to the mall, but wakes when I get him out of the car seat. 

It's okay, I coo, trying to keep the infant from screaming bloody murder. It's been about three hours since breakfast, so I figure the little guy's getting hungry. Stuffing the diaper bag into the rack under the stroller, we take off across the parking lot.

Once inside, I beeline it for the bathroom and seclude myself in the lounge to breastfeed my increasingly fussy child. I'm one of those people who are uncomfortable at the sight of other people breastfeeding, let alone doing it in public myself. I think this is as private as I'm going to get at the mall.

Looking down at David, stroking his curly, dark brown hair, I feel my heart melting at the prospect of having another baby.

I can do this, I tell myself. Josh and I can do this together.

We might be making it up as we go, but according to my mother and Josh's, that's normal.

I shed a lot of insecurities about mothering during the three weeks David was in the hospital. The silver lining to his extended stay at George Washington University Medical Center was how much I learned from the nursing staff about handling him, feeding him, changing him and not panicking when he starts wailing.

How are we going to tell your daddy about this? I ask David rhetorically while changing his diaper.

***

Leo is in the Oval Office when I get back. He scowls at me, but heads back to his own office before I can say anything.

Nothing's wrong, my ass, President Bartlet mutters. I'm about half a step from locking the two of you in a closet until you get this nothing sorted out.

Even I'll admit things between Leo and I have deteriorated rapidly over the past couple of weeks. I don't know what exactly happened. I do know I don't know how to treat him. Acting like he's nothing more than my boss is what probably started this whole mess, but I'm not ready to accept him dating my mother.

If he is dating my mother.

Which is what Mamme keeps insinuating.

***

I figure I've got a pretty small window before David start to protest our shopping excursion. Therefore, I'm not very picky about the clothes I'm selecting for him. Nothing overly girly is the only standard.

I doubt Josh would appreciate our son dressed a pink, lacy outfit and matching bonnet.

Maybe I should get it in case the next one's a girl.

But what if it's a boy?

How am I going to tell Josh?

ÔHow did you tell him last time?' the little voice in my head asks.

Hmm, that might work.

I'd have to find a new teddy bear, though.

David's still asleep, so I've got a little more time. I pay for the clothes and go in search of the mall's toy store.

***

How are things at home? 

It's become 20 questions from hell today.

It's a good thing Donna and I are already accustomed to erratic hours and not sleeping regularly, sir. I'm sure it's the only reason we're still functional.

President Bartlet gives me an odd look. You know I heard, through the grape vine, you didn't sleep through the night until you were almost a year old.

I've heard the same story from my mother numerous times, but wonder where he heard it. I disagree, sir. I don't think I've ever slept through the night.

he chuckles.

Family legend, sir, I answer his unspoken question. May I ask who told you?

His eyes flick towards Leo's office. An old friend of your father's.

***

Josh is in a meeting when I stop by the West Wing to drop off the teddy bear.

Chris and Debbie are both around, but neither of them knows when he'll be back. The bullpen is a mess; with great effort I resist the urge to organize, settling for reminding the two assistants they aren't above filing. In fact, it's a vital part of their jobs; jobs they won't have if I get back from maternity leave and the place still looks like this.

I find Josh's schedule on his desk. Apparently, he's been managing it himself. Deciphering his notes, I discover he's not in a meeting, he's staffing the President. Which means he won't be back any time soon.

I set the gift bag I'm carrying on the floor, perch David's carrier on Josh's chair and attempt to uncover the desk itself.

Two hours later, I find the dark oak surface and call it a day. Leaving the package strategically positioned in the middle of the newly organized chaos, I head out.

***

Donna promised to call when she found out what's wrong, but I haven't heard from her all day. I hope it's just exhaustion or something minor. Worry about her is my foremost concern today, by far overwhelming the quandary of Leo and Mamme.

My assistants are both gone when the President's day is finally over. The bullpen is dark, but my reading lamp is on, casting its light on a shiny, pale green gift bag.

From the neatly organized piles with Post­its and index cards, I can tell Donna's been in and couldn't resist straightening the mess on my desk. 

I wonder who left us another baby gift and pull away the pale yellow tissue paper to reveal a light tan­colored teddy bear.

Then my eyes fall on the tag written in my wife's distinctive handwriting.

_Everything is fine._

Everything is fine?

For the last three mornings Donna's been puking her guts out as I'm walking out the door. She goes to see a doctor and then leaves me a note, attached to a teddy bear, saying everything is fine?

I'm confused.

I mean, really confused.

Drawing the fuzzy bear from the bag, it's as if a light switch gets flipped in my brain.

I think I know what this means.

I know what it meant the last time Donna gave me a teddy bear.

Can it happen this fast?

David's barely 6 weeks old.

Donna and I have had sex like four times.

Can people be that fertile?

How many teddy bears does one kid need? Sam interrupts my mental ramblings.

It isn't for David, I reply absently, rolling the toy between my hands, marveling at how fast my family seems to be growing.

You're a little old for a teddy bear, don't you think?

Wow.

Sam is looking at me expectantly.

It's from Donna. I'm intentionally vague. 

Best friend or not, I'm trying to get out of here. I need to check in with Leo, as briefly as possible, and then go home. My week of Family and Medical Leave starts tomorrow. I wanted to take more, but since Donna and I work at the same place, we're only entitled to 12 weeks between us.

Of course, taking leave for me means working part­time.

Which sort of defeats the purpose of taking the time, I guess, but I'm trying here.

Sam asks again, looking at the teddy bear I'm still holding.

It's from Donna, I repeat. If I explain it, we'll be here longer than I want to be.

Sam crosses his arms and leans against the door. Why did your wife give you a teddy bear?

I don't know, I misdirect, stuffing a bunch of files in my backpack and standing back up.

Has she ever given you a teddy bear before? My friend trails me down the hall towards Leo's office.

I admit.

What for?

Twenty more feet and I can dump him off on Margaret.

Christmas last year, I answer, turning to the red­haired assistant. Can I?

Go on in, Josh. Her gaze shifts to the teddy bear under my arm. Cute bear.

I end the conversation by closing Leo's door in Sam's confused face. I need to find that guy a girlfriend.

You leaving? Leo looks up from his desk, his expression a perfect example of carefully schooled neutrality. 

I pull a couple of files out of my backpack. This is the final recommendation on the Supreme Court appointment and the mark­up on FMLA and the first

What's with the bear? he interrupts.

Donna left it for me, I pull it from under my arm and study it again, hoping it means what I think it means.

Leo makes a humph noise and starts flipping through the files I gave him. Not having been dismissed, I wait quietly. 

Okay, I'll bite, Leo breaks the silence. Why did Donna leave you a bear?

Thinking it through, I figure I'll have to come clean sooner or later. Might as well bite the bullet up front. I'm not sure, but the last time she gave me a teddy bear, it was to tell me she was pregnant.

Leo drops the files and stares up at me, all pretense of disinterest vanishing. Donna's pregnant? Again?

I don't know for sure, I shrug and shove my hands in my pockets. I'm not certain how these things work. I haven't talked to her since this morning. But we have been you know

His mouth flaps open a couple of times as he stares at me for the longest time and I watch the annoyance dissipate from his eyes. Your mother would be ecstatic to be a grandmother again so soon. 

Yeah, well, you'd know better than I would.

Oh God, I said that out loud.

Excuse me? Leo's eyes narrow and the aggravation returns.

I backpedal hastily. Nothing. I'm sorry I said that. Let's just drop it.

No, we will not just drop it. You've been stomping through the West Wing acting like I shot your dog for the past three weeks. What the hell is your problem?

It's nothing. I'm sorry, I apologize again, wracking my brain for a good excuse. I'm just tired and I know that's not an acceptable reason, but

You're right. It's not an acceptable reason, because it's bullshit and we both know it. Your mother says you haven't called her in two weeks, either. Now. What is the problem?

Why am I not surprised he's talked to Mamme?

Sounds like you spend an awful lot of time talking to my mother, I observe, feeling the short hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

She called me wondering if I knew what your problem was. Is this about her staying with me when she was up here last time?

My mother's social life is none of my business, I reply, bitterness seeping through despite my best efforts.

Leo purses his lips and just looks at me for the longest time before he gets up and walks around the desk. You're right, it isn't. Your mother cares about you a great deal. She's extremely hurt that you're apparently upset with her.

I'm not upset with my mother, I interrupt, sick of being lectured today. 

Then why the hell are you acting like a spoiled 10­year­old? Leo retorts.

Why are you acting like you're my father? Because I gotta tell you, you're not and you're never going to be. I fire back.

***

The pieces of this convoluted little puzzle finally snap into place with Josh's angry outburst. 

He thinks I'm trying to replace Noah.

Since March, Elisa's been playing up our relationship to him, without ever actually confirming or denying its existence. She thinks it's amusing to get him all wound up about the possibility of her starting to date.

Then Elisa comes up for David's bris and stays with me instead of at their apartment, something she's never done before. Logically, Josh and Donna's apartment isn't big enough for three adults and a newborn nor do they have a guestroom anymore. It really made more sense for her to stay with me.

I doubt Josh really saw the logic in it. All he saw was his mother rejecting his hospitality in favor of mine.

Jed and I surely haven't helped his perception over the past several weeks: hauling him into the Residence as though he's our son and we have the right to share our experiences with him; both of us acting like we're entitled to call that adorable child our grandson.

I remember how lost I was when Mallory first came home, how unsure I was about everything. It's very easy to understand how those insecurities could be magnified by the past month.

I reach out to touch his arm. I'm not trying to replace your dad. I have too much respect for Noah and you love him too much for me to even dream about that.

***

It's as if he channeled my mother and read my mind. I stare at the floor, trying to compose an appropriate response ­ difficult to do when you're not sure how you feel about what you're responding to.

Go home to your wife and kid, Leo says gruffly, before I can come up with anything. Don't forget the security briefing tomorrow morning at 7:30.

***

Josh's voice is a tad squeaky when he comes home to find me enjoying a hot bubble bath.

You're late, I chastise him, lifting one leg out of the bubbles. 

I had to talk to Leo. Josh looks over his shoulder into our bedroom. David asleep?

For the moment. Did you get things worked out? I know he's still having trouble with Elisa's relationship with Leo and it's beginning to effect his ability to work with Leo.

He shrugs. Sort of. Is the water still hot?

I let the Leo thing go. Josh will talk to me about it when he's ready.

Want company?

He strips off his clothes and wads them into a ball before pitching them into the other room. I scoot forward and allow him to slip in the tub behind me.

I lean back against the firm muscles of his chest, running my hands along the outside of his legs.

You were very stealthy today, Josh mentions, the palms of his hands resting on my newly flat hips.

I yelled at the assistants while I was there. I almost made Debbie cry.

I make Debbie cry every day, it doesn't help. I almost want my old assistant back. He emphasizes the word almost' by moving his hands up to my stomach. My old assistant organizes my desk before she leaves mysterious packages on it.

Your old assistant is impervious to you, too, I point out.

My old assistant is also very cryptic, Josh counters, lowering his lips to my collarbone.

Your old assistant was very straightforward. Your wife is very cryptic, I correct. 

I'm disappointed he didn't pick up on what the bear means.

Does the bear mean what I think it means, he asks, reading my mind while nibbling up the back of my neck.

It means the same thing the other bear meant. I tilt my head back so he can kiss his way back down to the hollow of my throat.

That's what I thought it meant, but I wasn't sure it could happen so fast.

You're okay with this? I ask just to be sure.

Shouldn't I be asking you that? You're the one who said two weeks ago you wanted not to be pregnant for a while. His hands slowly wind their way to my thighs. His fingers, softened by the bubble bath, send spikes of anticipation through my body.

I'm good with it, I sink deeper into the warm water.

Are you going to be as insatiable with this cub as you were last time? The pitch of his voice has lowered significantly over the course of our conversation.

***

I continue to kiss her neck and stroke her slowly, allowing my other hand randomly roams her silky skin.

Let's get out of the tub. I finally suggest when I can no longer stand the rub of her body against my erection.

She stands wordlessly and picks her giant towel from the rack, wrapping it around herself. I follow her out of the tub and stand before her, aching to touch her.

Lifting my hand to her face, I trace the contours of her jaw before punctuating my touch with a deep kiss. Donna opens her towel and wraps it around me as well, enclosing us both in its fuzziness.

I have a secret, she whispers when my lips travel to her tasty neck.

I ask hoarsely.

I really like being pregnant, she shares.

Her hands let go of the towel and her hips grind into Spongebob.

That's good, I reply, trying to think of something non­Republican­esque about how I feel about her pregnancy. Because I like making babies with you.

Good answer, she murmurs.

Her fingernails scrape up my sides then down my back.

***

This is a sure thing, right? I mumble lazily, allowing my hands to slowly caress Donna's back.

Mm hmm. Donna is tracing my earlobe with her fingernail.

We should call the grandparents. 

Leo was right about one thing, my mother is going to be ecstatic at the prospect of another grandchild.

Donna's talented lips disengage from my neck. Do you want a girl or another boy?

I'll be happy if it's healthy. The thought of repeating what we went through with David is harrowing.

Do you want to try to find out?

I shrug. I'm willing to be surprised if you are.

It was kind of fun not knowing. She sits back and puts her hands on my chest. Let's be surprised.

I'm good with surprised.

***

Nice hickey. CJ grabs my chin and tilts it to get a better look.

Having just emerged from a mind­numbing national security briefing ­ no imminent national threats ­ my verbal sparring skills aren't up to par.

Yeah. Donna gave it to me. I follow her into the Oval Office.

I would certainly hope so, she laughs. I hear that's not the only thing Donna gave you.

Donna giving you random gifts, Josh? President Bartlet unbuttons his suit jacket and settles into one of the chairs.

Kind of, I glance around, trying to decide how much to say. Donna and I didn't discuss telling anyone other than our immediate family, which we haven't done yet.

Then again, if this group of people isn't family, who is?

Abbey stopped giving me random gifts years ago, he gets a wistful look on his face that quickly melts into a smirk. Forcing me to live vicariously through others. What did your lovely wife get you?

I squirm under the attention being focused my way. She didn't really get me anything.

According to Margaret you were carrying around a hand­made teddy bear she was almost certain came from some place in Leesburg, Virginia, Toby offers. From his grimace, I can tell Margaret cornered him and he was lucky to escape with his sanity.

It wasn't for me, I qualify.

It wasn't. It was for the cub.

You never did tell me who it was for, Sam jumps on the bandwagon.

Let me understand this correctly, the President leans forward. Donna gave you a hand­made teddy bear, only it wasn't for you. Margaret and Sam have both seen this bear, but neither of them know who it's for. They are, along with the rest of us, undoubtedly curious. I can only assume you know who the intended recipient is. Would you care to enlighten us?

Not really, I mutter under my breath, feeling like it'd be jinxing something to tell anyone this early. 

I'm sorry, what did you say? the President raises his eyebrows, not believing I'd actually refuse to participate in his little game.

I said, of course, sir. I can feel myself turning beet red. It's for the baby.

You told me it wasn't for David, Sam accuses.

It's not for David, I reiterate. It's for the baby.

President Bartlet throws his hands up. The last time I checked, you and Donna only had one child. Did you adopt one while the rest of us weren't looking?

No, sir, I duck my head to conceal my smirk. And we presently do only have the one, but

CJ's shocked look tells me she's caught on. But not in, say, nine months? By then you might have two?

Donna's due on April 3rd, I can't keep the grin from spreading across my face.


	31. The Welcome Wagon

I reach instinctively for her without opening my eyes and come up empty.

No Donna, no David.

I squint against the early Friday morning sunlight streaming into the bedroom through the open shades.

I call a little louder over the muffled sounds coming from the kitchen.

She appears in the doorway with David in her arms, a blonde Madonna wearing nothing but a white tank top and a pair of my boxers.

Daddy's finally awake, isn't he? She says to David in the baby­voice only new parents find endearing.

What are you doing? 

We're baking brownies, she admits, sitting down on the bed.

I take David from her, nestling our son's tiny body against my right shoulder. 

For Freddy's care package.

Freddy? My little brother? Donna teases. You know, the one who's moving into the Georgetown University dorms this morning? The reason you took today off work?

You're awful feisty this morning, aren't you? I yawn.

She leans over my bare chest and sends a shiver down my spine when her tongue traces its way up my scars.

If David weren't awake, I'd show you just how feisty, Donna growls.

I close my eyes and sink into the bed, enjoying the feel of her lips on my skin as they make their way to my ear.

There's something highly erotic about a man with a baby, my wife whispers in that sultry voice she reserves just for me.

***

Josh is putty in my hands; I think he's even forgotten David is tucked into the crook of his neck.

It's almost as big a turn on as a man who can bake.

he exhales, his skin flush with excitement.

I place both hands on his chest and give him a shove. So get up and help me bake brownies!

He blinks his eyes in confusion before training them on me questioningly.

I enunciate slowly. Get up and help me bake brownies.

What makes you think I know how to bake brownies? Josh protests. I guess he wasn't as far gone as I thought.

I cross my arms and glare at him.

What do I get in exchange? he asks, switching tactics.

Josh! Come on, I plead, resorting to the long­suffering wife face.

You ought to patent that look, Josh grumbles, but he sits up nonetheless, jostling David in the process.

David is a little displeased at being moved from his favorite spot and tells his daddy so in no uncertain terms. Shaking my head in silent laughter, I return to the kitchen, leaving my men to fend for themselves.

Aw, come on, little bear, I hear Josh attempting to soothe our squalling, ten­week­old infant. Daddy has to get up and show Mommy what a young man like your Uncle Freddy really wants in his care package. This is valuable information you'll benefit from down the road.

***

David starts fading to a red­faced hiccupping as I keep talking. 

Do you need changing? I ask him. 

I have yet to understand how Donna can tell he has a dirty diaper just by feeling his butt. I've got to smell him and usually open the damn thing up to figure it out.

His cries increase again when I put him down on my pillow to grab a pair of boxers out of the dresser. Picking David back up quiets him a little. 

Let's just check you out, shall we?

I carry him into the nursery and lay him on the changing table. Grabbing a rag, I undo the pins on the cloth diaper and open it up.

Baby poop is the single most disgusting thing in the universe. In a testament to how much I love my wife, I learned not only how to change one of these damn cloth diapers, but how to put up with the stink of what fills it.

No wonder you're unhappy, I tell my son and deposit the rag on top of his little Spongebob. A handy trick my mother­in­law taught me when I was learning about diapers over Christmas. Due in no small part to her teachings, I have yet to get peed on while changing a diaper. I lift David's butt and start mopping up the semi­liquefied gunk with a baby wipe.

What has Mommy been feeding you, little bear?

He's stopped crying and is staring up at me; his dark brown eyes open wide and his mouth making little sucking motions.

You put out some nasty stuff, you know that? Our one­sided conversation continues uninterrupted while I toss the dirty diaper into the bio­hazard pail and pin the clean one in place. 

There you go, all clean and I stop rambling when my attention refocuses to his face. 

she calls from the kitchen.

COME IN HERE! I holler back. 

I hold up the two outfits I grabbed and show them to David, trying to keep him occupied until Donna gets here. Blue or gray?

Donna demands breathlessly.

***

David is lying on his back on the changing table, looking up at Josh with

He's smiling. I look from David to Josh in amazement.

Developmentally, our son is a little behind where the charts all say he should be at ten weeks. The pediatrician attributes it to his premature birth and the three weeks he spent in NICU. He insists David will catch up before we know it.

Josh grins back at me while he works flailing little arms and legs into the respective openings of the outfit he picked.

He's smiling, I repeat, awed by the toothless expression on David's face.

Josh whispers again, wrapping his arm around my waist, his face mirroring my own.

We stand there grinning like a pair of idiots while David entertains himself by kicking his legs and sucking on his fist. 

He wants brownies, I decide, trying to get this day back on track.

Yeah, right, Josh drawls sarcastically. He releases me and picks up David before heading to the kitchen.

Tell me something that's been bothering me for years. I sit cross­legged on an empty spot of counter. Josh hands David to me and I settle him onto my lap so he can watch.

He replies, distractedly surveying the supplies I set out earlier.

Your mother claims she taught you to cook, but where did you learn to bake?

Josh clambers down on all fours, digging for something in a cabinet. Pulling his head out, he looks up and raises his eyebrows. Are you sure you want to know?

Of course I want to know.

He frowns, gets to his feet and starts adding ingredients to the stainless steel mixing bowl.

Josh! Tell me! I laughingly insist after a few minutes of silence filled only by David's nonsensical babbling.

When I was a freshman at Harvard, I hated my roommates and didn't have the guts to rush a fraternity during the fall semester. So, I spent a lot of time at a diner not far from campus that was open until like 2 or 3 a.m. I'd drink coffee, study and order just enough food to not piss off the guy who ran the place. Josh pauses to get something out of the fridge.

***

The late night cook was a twenty­two­year­old student at the Cambridge Culinary School

Donna has this knowing little smirk on her face.

who wanted to be a pastry chef. One thing sort of led to another and we started going out. She got a job at some hotel and her hours changed mid­semester. Instead of hanging out at the diner, I started going to her apartment to study.

Does the mystery cook have a name? Donna asks.

Cindy McNeil. She had a fetish for spatulas, I waggle my eyebrows and hold out the chocolate covered spoon for Donna to lick.

Spatulas, eh?

I reply, sticking the pan of brownies in the oven.

You know, my parents and Freddy aren't going to be here for another three hours.

I wave the double boiler at her. Somebody wanted me to make brownies.

***

I pout at him briefly. But since David is still kicking and squealing and is obviously not interested in taking a nap, I decide to continue bugging him about Cindy McNeil.

Were you in love with her? I draw out the word Ôlove.'

He shrugs indifferently, but the blush spreading across his cheeks is a dead giveaway. I know for a fact Josh didn't date in high school. My husband was the quintessential nerd. Cindy McNeil must have been his first girlfriend.

Oh come on, Josh! I whine teasingly. Admit it. She was your first true love.

He turns down the heat on the double boiler and stands in front of me, allowing David to grab his finger while cupping the other one to my face.

She taught me more than just how to bake, he says huskily. But you are my only true love.

Our lips meet in a lazy, lingering kiss.

Good answer, I murmur when we finally part.

Brown eyes twinkle mischievously inches from mine.

Oh yeah. But, Josh? I glance at the smoking pan on the stove. The chocolate's going to burn.

Wouldn't be the first time, he answers, reaching out to kiss me again.

I pull back after the fourth or fifth kiss. We have three hours, Josh. If you get the frosting right the first time, you'll have time to show me what else Cindy McNeil taught you while the brownies cool and David takes a nap.

I like naps. Josh gives me one more kiss before returning to his frosting.

***

The frosting is finished about the same time the brownies are. Which, fortuitously, is about the same time David's eyelids start to droop.

Donna takes him into the bedroom while I put the brownies in the fridge to cool faster.

She's standing on one foot peeling off her shorts by the time I wrap up in the kitchen.

Leave me something to do. I come up behind her and stay her hands before she can remove the last scraps of clothing covering her body.

She turns around and drapes her arms over my bare shoulders.

So what else did Cindy McNeil teach you? Donna's voice is deep and erotic. From the way she grinds her pelvis into mine, I can tell how much she wants me.

My hands grip her hips, pulling her closer to me still. Without answering her question, I lean in and lick her lips with my tongue, gently prying them apart and seeking out her tongue.

she moans into our kiss, her fingers toying playfully with my hair.

You taste like chocolate, I murmur when we finally come up for air.

***

My fingers scrape down his biceps and they flex under my touch.

Josh groans encouragingly, dipping his lips to his favorite spot on my collarbone.

Biceps, forearms, waist, there's a natural progression of skin, muscle and sinew demanding to be touched as I make my way to the elastic band of his boxers.

Strong hands cup my butt and pull me closer to his hips, I can feel the heat of arousal through the thin, cotton material.

I want you so much, Josh tells me between kisses; kisses which are becoming insistent with need and desire as he strips the tank top and my bra off.

I tilt my head back, giving up all pretense of equality, and allow him to ravage my neck while he guides us, stumbling, backwards until we collapse onto the bed.

The feel of Josh's hands makes me gasp and writhe with want. I want him to touch me everywhere at once; I want him to kiss me everywhere at once; I want him to make love to me.

***

We lay, still touching, gathering ourselves to face the day. Josh's head rests sleepily on my shoulder, his eyes shut and his breathing even, one hand possessively covering my abdomen, the other tangled in my hair.

I sigh and snuggle closer to him for warmth. The air conditioning blowing across my sweaty body leaves me chilled.

The sound of my men sleeping is hypnotic. Josh's deep, relaxed breathing is a stark contrast to David's shallow snoring. 

Yes, our baby snores. 

A fact Joshua continually blames on me, because my dad snores like a freight train.

I decide it's time to get the show on the road when the clock in the living room chimes nine. My folks should be here soon and we need to at least be showered and dressed.

Get up, baby, I shake Josh's shoulder. You need to shower while I feed David.

He groans in protest but finally gets up, leaving a string of kisses from my shoulder to my fingertips. 

***

I swear, when Webster's defined multi­tasking they simply took the definition of parenting and relocated it.

Thus, Donna is in the shower; I'm trying to entertain David, pack the diaper bag and get myself dressed. 

Then the phone rings and the cordless handset is in the living room.

I'm completely out of breath by the time I find it.

David's crying sends me dashing back into the bedroom.

It's okay, little bear, I attempt to calm him, ignoring the phone cradled to my ear in my efforts.

Is everything okay, Josh? my mother­in­law asks.

Hi, Deb. Yeah, everything's fine. I survey myself in the full­length mirror and determine Ôfine' might be stretching reality. I'm clad in boxers and not­yet­buttoned jeans; my damp hair is sticking out in every direction; David is clutching and gnawing at my shoulder, red­faced and bawling, having just upchucked his last feeding all over me.

Either that or I've reassessed the meaning of the word fine.'

Deb chuckles. We're lost.

Do you have any idea where you are?

she repeats in a tone of voice that tells me they've been driving in circles for at least an hour.

Are you in D.C. or are you still in Maryland? It's my turn to laugh, which makes David squeal and smile.

The kid shifts moods faster than his mother.

I think we're in Maryland, Deb answers. Her annoyance at Paul's unwillingness to ask for directions is blatantly obvious. But we've been through Virginia and I'm pretty certain we've crossed the Potomac twice.

Tell me what exits are coming up.

Highway 50 is three miles, she replies.

You weren't lying. You are lost, I joke. Take 50 east into the District.

I give her directions to a public parking lot near old RFK Stadium and tell her to wait for Donna and I there.

***

Josh is standing in the middle of the bedroom, bare­chested and covered in baby puke, laughing at the phone in his hand.

What's so funny? I ask, taking David from him so he can clean up, again.

Your mom just called. They're driving around the beltway ­ lost, and Paul won't stop for directions.

I can't help but join in his giggling. My dad would as soon drive until he runs out of gas than stop and ask directions. We spent a summer vacation once driving around Nebraska aimlessly for four days.

We were trying to find Mt. Rushmore.

You know ­ the big tourist attraction in South Dakota?

It takes us another twenty minutes to get ready and loaded into the Trailblazer. I let Josh drive because he knows where he sent my parents to wait for us.

***

You're sure this is where Josh told you they'd meet us? Paul is looking around the desolate, overgrown parking lot with skepticism.

He's got a lot of nerve for a guy who drove us all the way around Washington, D.C. at rush hour.

Twice.

Fred is slumped in the backseat as if he doubts we'll ever find Georgetown University.

We've only been waiting about five minutes before another SUV pulls into the lot and parks next to ours. My son­in­law's face appears in Paul's window. He is obviously finding this situation amusing.

Paul rolls down the window and Josh points back over his shoulder. You realize Georgetown is on the other side of the District, right?

I'm beginning to understand why so many TV and newspaper people think he's a pompous ass.

He shifts his attention from Paul to me. Here's the plan. Deb, you'll ride with Donna. Paul, you'll move over and I'll drive yours.

Paul grumbles, but unsnaps his seat belt and opens the door.

Is this okay with you, Freddy? I turn to find his sour look firmly entrenched.

Can we get the show on the road? he begs, bluntly.

I frown at him, but bite my tongue, this day is going to be hard enough as it is.

Peering into the kids' Blazer, I open the rear passenger door. I'm just going to sit back here with my grandson.

Donna meets my gaze in the rearview mirror and her eyes dance with motherly pride.

He's so tiny. All of my children were well over 9 pounds when they were born, I haven't seen a baby this small in many years.

He's up to just about 6 pounds.

He looks like Josh.

It's rather disturbing, isn't it? Donna laughs.

***

It's nearly 11 a.m. by the time we drive across town, find a place to park and carry the first load of Freddy's stuff up the 10 flights of stairs to his room in the East Wing of Village C.

You need less shit, Josh gasps, dumping his stack of boxes on the desk.

Mom and I follow the guys into the room. Industrial is a good way to describe it: long and narrow with bland, white cinderblock walls and linoleum floors. Two windows filter the broiling August sun streaming into the room.

Mom, why don't you stay up here with David? I offer. She looks ready to drop from the humidity.

Why don't you both stay up here with David, where there's air conditioning? Josh suggests firmly, clearly not fond of my traipsing up and down ten flights of stairs while carrying stuff.

Josh, I'm perfectly capable of helping, I put my hands on my hips, girding myself to battle his Neanderthalistic tendencies.

I'm sure you are, but he trails off when a short, stocky, dark­haired kid stumbles through the door.

It's a party, he gapes at the six of us, dropping his suitcase.

Freddy wipes the sweat from his hand before sticking it out. I'm Fred Moss. These are my parents and my sister and her family.

Josh and Dad both smile at him and excuse themselves to bring up the next load. Mom and I do the same, but settle for finding a couch in the dorm's lounge to people­watch instead of killing ourselves with Freddy's stuff.

What was that about? Mom asks. She's fawning over David, counting his toes and tickling him.

I ask, closing my eyes and relaxing.

The little tiff you and Josh were about to have.

He doesn't want me lifting anything, I sigh. 

He's completely back into over­protective father­to­be mode and it's getting on my nerves.

Mom looks up from making faces at David. She says nothing; she simply raises her eyebrows to ask her question.

I bite my lip. I'm pregnant again.

The corner of her mouth twitches upward just slightly. 

April 3rd, I answer.

I thought you were breastfeeding?

Dr. Williams thinks because I wasn't feeding him every few hours in the hospital, my body started ovulating again. Breastfeeding as contraception is only 98% reliable anyway. I'm, evidently, in that special 2%.

Mom groans, but smiles. I always knew there was something special about you, Donnatella. Are you both okay with this?

It isn't exactly what we planned, but Josh and planning

Don't go together very well? Mom finishes.

***

I'm going to die of a heart attack. We got all of Freddy's crap lugged upstairs and then started helping his roommate, because it turns out Andy's mother and little sister brought him to college and Andy's mother and little sister are not exactly movin' on up' material.

I set the kid's TV carefully on the floor, take two steps toward the closest bed and collapse.

How's everything going in here?

As the only person in the room, I pry my head off the mattress to glare at the voice's owner.

I'm Blake. I'm the Resident Assistant. I just wanted to make sure the move­in is going okay.

Sure, great, fine, I grumble, wondering why I didn't think of borrowing some Secret Service agents. Don't they owe me one?

I'll stop back by later, then, the kid stammers. Excuse me.

You look like death warmed over. This announcement comes from a far more familiar, feminine voice. The body the voice emanates from is the likely cause of the RA's sudden difficulty in speaking and rapid exit. In my experience, twenty­year­old resident assistant types are overwhelmed by the radiant beauty of Donnatella Lyman.

Where's everybody else? I ask my wife without moving.

She sits on the edge of the bed. At the bookstore. I had no desire to navigate that scholastic war zone with a two­month­old.

Good move, I agree, a low groan escapes as my body protests sitting up.

Are you going to live? The look of concern on her face tempers the sarcastic words.

I might, I reply. Or I might drop dead and leave you a widow with two kids.

And an extremely healthy bank account, Donna reminds me. 

Good point, I agree with a chuckle.

***

Josh and I busy ourselves unpacking some of Freddy's stuff. I make the bed while Josh handles the clothes Ð I have zero desire to refold and put away my brother's underwear.

I can't believe they don't supply a computer for the room. Josh is fixated on this detail.

I guess I wouldn't have expected one. The rooms at U­W didn't have computers either. Of course, it was 1993 when I went to college and computers weren't as pervasive even ten short years ago.

God, it's been ten years since I went to college. Ten years since I graduated from high school. Shouldn't I have a ten­year reunion coming up soon?

I jump when Josh touches my shoulder.

You okay? he asks.

I nod, picking David up off the other bed where he's babbling and waving his arms around. I was just remembering when I moved into the dorms.

You lived in the dorms? Donna, your parents lived like down the street. Josh is looking at me in disbelief, one arm gesturing towards the door to illustrate his down the street' point.

Of course I lived in the dorms, I scoff. Did you live at home when you went to Yale?

No. Danbury was a little far from New Haven to commute for 8 a.m. classes when I'd been in the library until four in the morning Josh concedes. But, seriously, your parents live two miles from campus at the most. You moved into the dorms?

I wanted the full college experience. For someone who couldn't settle on a major and didn't graduate, I might have been a little haughty right there.

Josh raises both eyebrows at me and starts to say something.

I order preemptively, attempting to forestall the snarky come­back he's got. 

He studiously schools his features into something a little less obnoxious.

Do you ever wish you had finished?

Well, talk about your misdirection. Where did that come from?

***

I shrug. It's something I've wondered for a long time and never really had the time or place to ask. I just wonder is all.

A faraway look drifts over her again and I'm struck by what a lucky man I really am. She's beautiful, my Donnatella. Her long blonde hair glistens and her eyes sparkle; the small, flawless diamond I put on her finger reflects the light as she unconsciously pats David's back, comforting the miracle we created together.

she shakes her head, breaking my reverie with the single word. I couldn't ever decide what I really wanted to do when I was in school. I guess I knew, but I didn't know how to get there. Going to New Hampshire was the right thing for me, Josh. I grew so much and I learned so many things you just can't learn in a classroom. I don't need a piece of paper to validate my knowledge anymore. Two years ago, my answer might have been different, but not today. I know who I am and I know what I want to do with my life and I know how to get there. I'm not in Pat's situation anymore.

I narrow my eyes and look at her closer. My wife is an incredible woman.

A youthful insecurity mixes with the timeless wisdom I see in her eyes.

***

he grins at me, reaching out to stroke David's cheek. Just thinking about how lucky I am you agreed to marry me.

I snort rather inelegantly. I'm the only one who would have you, Joshua Elijah Lyman. Every other woman on the planet thinks you're a fabulous catch until you open your mouth and display that ego of yours.

I don't have an Josh trails off when I raise my eyebrows at him. He blushes sheepishly and concedes. Thus proving just how lucky I really am.

***

The rest of the day was spent at Target getting everything Fred and Andy didn't realize they'd need, like cleaning supplies for their bathroom. Paul and Deb spent the night at a hotel and heading back to Wisconsin this morning.

We're meeting for breakfast at the diner near Rock Creek Park that Matt Skinner and I frequent for our clandestine coalition­building sessions.

Deb, Paul and Fred already have a table when we get there.

I've never actually ordered food here, preferring to do my negotiations over coffee. Matt, however, swears by the biscuits and gravy.

Are you ready to go back to work? Deb asks Donna after we've ordered.

I think so, Donna replies with a wistful glance at David. It's nice to stay home with him, but if I don't get some regular adult conversation soon, I'm going to go insane.

She might go insane coming back to work. I cringe at the very thought of Donna returning to the office. Despite all my repeated screaming and threats, the bullpen is still a disaster area. I'm going in this afternoon to ride herd on Chris and Debbie in an last ditch attempt to clean things up.

This came to the house, by the way. Pat sent it along and I meant to give it to you yesterday, Deb is pulling an envelope out of her purse when I tune back into the conversation.

You'd think they could find me in D.C., Donna bitches, giving me David so she can open her mail. God, Jennifer Hatcher. I hated her. She was the homecoming queen, the prom queen, class vice­president, cheerleader, president of the drama club, the perfect little goody­goody. Her and Brent Mulroney.

Wow. The last person I heard her talk about like that was Sam's ex­girlfriend, Rachelle.

Tell us how you really feel about her, Donna, Fred quips. So? Are you going to go?

I ask in confusion, never haven gotten the purpose of the letter she was opening.

My 10­year high school reunion, Donna explains to me before turning back to Fred. I don't think so. I really have no desire to see any of those people. I didn't really like them that much the first time around.

When is it? I try to peek through her clenched fist at the invitation.

The third weekend in October. Homecoming weekend.

Third weekend in October

I'm sensing some unresolved hostility here. This could be fun. We should go to this, because I'll give 5 to 1 odds that Jennifer Hatcher is probably the antithesis of the person she once was. Donna, on the other hand, is an aide to the President of the United States.

You don't honestly want to go to this? Donna's fork stops half­way to her mouth.

I think you should at least consider about it. I hedge for safety's sake. She could very easily stab me with that fork, or, you know, withhold sex.

She looks around at her parents and Fred. Everyone is nodding in agreement.

Okay. Okay, she throws her hands up in surrender. I'll think about it.


	32. The General Theory of Relativity

I thought you were off this weekend. Sam's curious voice comes from where he's leaning against the doorjamb in the open doorway between Donna's office and mine.

Donna's back to work on Monday. I wave my hand at the teetering stacks of paperwork. If she sees this, I'll be sleeping on the sofa for a month.

My aversion to sleeping on the sofa is the sole reason I left Donna and her parents at the diner this morning after breakfast. I have spent the last two hours organizing policy memos.

Do you want some help?

If you've got time, I point at the stack of papers on the sofa. I could use some, yeah.

Sam glances around for a spare bit of floor. Unable to find any, he picks up a handful of files. Where are Chris and Debbie?

Filing the stuff I've already gone through. You want to divide them into piles by topic. Give them to me and I'll subdivide them into the Moss System.

The Moss Filing System.

It's the bane of my existence. Donna based her filing system on outlines and I'm not a big fan of outlines, therefore, Donna's filing system.

Take education initiatives for example. 

Education is its own heading, which is then broken down into pre­school, primary, secondary and post­secondary education. From there it separates into private, religious, public or all. Next the files are separated into active and inactive, before finally being filed by its focus or sponsor. If the topic is inactive, it is further divided by the year the document was produced. The college tax credit we started working during the election is still an active file, so its file is under Education ­Post­Secondary ­ All ­ Active ­ Tax Credit. The voucher program we're trying to scuttle is Education ­ Primary/Secondary ­ Public ­ Active ­ Vouchers.

I think.

Personally, I thought it would be easier to file it as HR 1296. But as Donna points out, we would have to have a file for SR 9011, which is its Senate version, a file for original White House proposal and the amendments and this and that. Honestly, she talked in so many circles when I brought it up it gave me a headache and I ceded the battle.

Did your brother­in­law get situated? Sam calls, settling on the floor in my office near the doorway.

Yeah. His roommate's from Mississippi, so there's some culture shock going on. I think he'll be okay.

Budget ­ Medicare ­ Reimbursement ­ Drugs ­ Inactive ­ 2000 ­ Senator T. Harrison (Democrat/New York).

Budget ­ Homeland Security ­ Community Support ­ Active ­ First Responder Training.

This is the way my morning fades into afternoon, amid the shuffle of paper and quiet sounds of Sam mumbling under his breath as he sorts briefing memos and reports.

Sam fills the silence with his simple question.

I answer. Leaning back in Donna's chair, I stretch my arms over my head and exhale.

Sam is standing in the doorframe, taking a break. How long are you going to be pissed at Leo for dating your mother?

First of all, I begin defensively. I'm not sure he's dating my mother. Second of all, I'm not pissed at Leo. Third of all, how long are you going to bug me about it?

Sam snorts. Third of all?

Seriously, I'm okay with it, I insist, ignoring his dig on my grammar. Not that they care what I think.

Who are you trying to convince, Josh? Sam asks. Me? Or yourself?

He drops the subject when I return to shuffling papers.

Campaign ­ Ritchie ­ Inactive ­ 2002 Shit. 

This never should have left my backpack. 

How the hell did it get into the middle of this mess? 

I flip through the pages and account for every one. Thank God it's all here, considering I'm still denying the very existence of this file. Hoynes wants it so bad he can taste it. There is stuff in here that would make your skin crawl and while my ethics aren't always the greatest, there's a line I would never cross without the strongest provocation. This stuff is so far over that line you can't see the line anymore. That's why Bruno and Hoynes didn't know it existed and never will.

Grabbing a large manila envelope, I stuff the file inside, seal it and scrawl my initials with the date across the flap.

I'll be right back. I tell Sam, stepping over him on my way to Leo's office and his document safe. 

Margaret has taken a rare Saturday off, so the threshold is unguarded. I rap my knuckles twice on the doorframe and await permission to enter.

Leo calls.

I need to put a file in your safe. I look at my shoes, the file, out the window ­ everywhere but at Leo.

he inquires, not looking up from his own work.

A file got mixed in somewhere it shouldn't have, I answer vaguely. Leo knows the file exists, but not what's in it.

Can you leave it on the desk? He looks up.

I shake my head and meet his eyes for the first time.

Leo nods and scoots his chair back. The safe is built into his desk, where a normal file drawer would be. The click of the tumblers precedes rumble of the drawer sliding open.

I silently hand the file over. Leo looks at the plain envelope curiously. Do I want to know what this is?

The file on Ritchie, I reply simply. I'll pick it up on my way out tonight.

I thought you were taking the weekend off? he questions.

We're getting the bullpen squared away.

Leo surveys me for a breath before dismissing me. Get back to it then.

I return to find Toby standing in the middle of the bullpen, hands on his hips, glaring at Chris and Debbie. They are scurrying about filing the stuff I've already sorted. CJ is sitting on the floor leaning up against the wall next to Sam.

We're making it a group effort, CJ informs me cheekily.

I appreciate it. I sit down at Donna's desk heavily, feeling suddenly light­headed.

Are you okay? She gets up and follows me into the office.

Yeah. Why? I blow it off, despite the shakes I can barely control. 

What the hell is the matter with me?

CJ frowns, but retreats to her place on the floor. You went all pale for a minute.

Sam's eyes peer over the desk at me. You don't look very good.

I'm fine, I insist. Let's get back to work. This shit isn't going to file itself.

***

Parents on the way back to Wisconsin? 

Check. 

Fred safely back on campus? 

Check. 

David down for his morning nap? 

Check. 

Husband stashed at work? 

Check.

I collapse on the couch and plant my aching feet on the coffee table. I'm supposed to go back to work Monday and I'm utterly exhausted. I haven't been this tired my whole maternity leave. Now all of a sudden my feet hurt, my back aches, my breasts are sore and I swear I've gained ten pounds.

The ten pounds part doesn't really bother me, considering I only gained 19 pounds the entire time I was pregnant with David. Dr. Williams is threatening me with bed rest if I don't gain more this time.

I lean my head back against the cushions, relaxing in the peace and quiet.

Which lasts all of thirty seconds before the phone rings. The caller­ID displays my mother­in­law's cellphone number.

Hello, Elisa

Donna dear, how are you?

I'm having a day, I answer with a smile. Josh is at work, if you're looking for him.

Elisa snorts on the other end. I highly doubt Joshua is any more willing to talk to me today than he was last week or the week before.

Josh's Sunday conversations with Elisa are becoming increasingly terse, to say the least. Josh has worked himself into a serious lather over the past couple of months regarding his mother's relationship with Leo and he just won't let it go. Elisa hasn't been much better, refusing to discuss the situation with him, continuing to reiterate it's her life and not his business.

I'm starting to realize where Josh gets his obstinate streak. And it's not all from his father.

Anyway, let's not talk about my pouting, over­grown excuse for a son, shall we?

I sigh.

she tries to stop me.

I shake my head at her, despite the fact she can't see me. This is part of Josh I see far more often than she does ­ his fear of rejection. It's the reason he took so long to tell her we were dating in the first place. She's the only part of his childhood he has left and he's terrified of losing her approval.

David and I have discussed this problem extensively and I think I finally hit on the root of the matter. It's the not knowing that pushed him over the edge. He hates not knowing things, there's no quicker way to drive him into a frothing frenzy than by deliberately not telling him something he wants to know. He sees Elisa's refusal to tell him about her relationship with Leo as rejection of his concern for her, née disapproval of his response to their friendship or whatever.

God, I need to go back to work ­ I've been psychoanalyzing my husband with an infant over breast milk.

Elisa, I'm going to say this whether you want to hear it or not. I know he's being unreasonable, but I don't think he's acting this way just because he thinks you and Leo are a thing. He loves you more than almost anything else in the world and he's acting this way because he feels you are shutting him out. He can't get over it because he doesn't know if it's real or not and every time he tries to find out, someone tells him it's none of his business.

My mother­in­law remains silent on the other end of the phone for so long I start to think she hung up on me.

I'm not, you know. Shutting him out, she finally whispers softly.

I know you're not, but Josh ­ he needs to know the truth, whatever it is.

***

After almost two hours of organizing weeks­old paperwork, I peer around the doorframe at Josh ­ he's still deathly pale. Sam gives me an encouraging look, motioning for me to get the show on the road.

We're not just here to help with the filing. 

This is an intervention.

Josh? Can you come here? 

The First Lady suggested giving him the benefit of his own turf ­ to make it less hostile.

He runs one hand over his face and through his hair: Josh­speak for you're interrupting me so this better be good.'

Sam and I both get to our feet.

Have a seat, Sam points to Josh's chair. Toby appears from the bullpen and closes the door while I shut the one from Donna's office.

What the hell is going on? Josh demands, crossing his arms defiantly and ignoring Sam's suggestion to sit.

We're worried about you, I begin. The thing with Leo. There's too much tension, too much uncertainty. It's not good for business.

Josh's brown eyes flash nearly black as he stares stonily at the three of us before turning on his heel and ripping the connecting door open. Stalking through it, he slams it shut.

That went well, Toby remarks dryly. I'm going back out there to spend the rest of my Saturday making the juvenile delinquents nervous.

Everybody needs a hobby. I look at Sam, who shrugs and lowers himself back down to the floor.

All three of us are accustomed to Josh's temper tantrums when things don't go the way he wants them too. We also know his silences are indicative of barely constrained rage.

Tell me again what they're doing with the ductwork and the Mess? Sam changes the subject without even looking up from the papers he's once again organizing.

Plopping down beside him, I grab a sheaf of memos. We've got over three hours before our next meeting. Something about redistributing the carbon monoxide output of the gas stoves. Do I look like Julia Child?

***

Damn, meddling

Why the hell can't people just leave well enough alone. 

First the President. Now Sam, CJ and Toby 

It's not like I want it to be this way. It just seems like it has to be. Leo and Mamme obviously don't want to include me in their relationship. That's fine. That's their decision. Leo and I can still work together.

Damn, I seriously don't feel well. I don't know what Matt sees in the biscuits and gravy.

Of course, it's almost 2 o'clock and I haven't eaten since seven this morning. Maybe I should go down to the mess and get something

***

How did it go?

We've assembled in Dr. Bartlet's East Wing office. Its emptiness is a desolate reminder that her staffers have lives and families to spend a late summer Saturday with.

We were glared at. Sam's sour expression matches his rumpled khakis. And not just any glare. The glare he saves for Lillienfield and Claypool.

Abbey leans against her desk and scowls. He wouldn't talk at all?

Toby and I shake our heads in unison as I continue. He slammed the door and hasn't come out. That was three hours ago. 

Tell me again. Why are we doing this? Toby asks. He's clearly uncomfortable meddling in people's personal lives.

Because my husband is driving me nuts about it, Abbey sighs. Thanks for trying, guys. I guess it's on to Plan B.

Sam looks curious. He has no compunctions about sticking his nose into his friend's problems. Plan B?

The First Lady allows a tight smile to grace her lips. Plan B.

***

It's just after 5 o'clock when I realize I can no longer hear Sam and CJ bitching about the volume of forests destroyed by the White House Operations staff.

Giving into the headache, fatigue and nausea I've been fighting all day, I gather my things and high tail it out of the building. 

***

Josh staggers in around 5:30, looking like Bram Stoker's Dracula ­ the living dead. He's whiter than usual, sweating and even his eyes look glassy.

Do you feel okay? I ask worriedly, taking his backpack in one hand and grabbing his elbow with my other to guide him toward the couch.

Better than I did earlier, Josh admits, accepting my pampering without complaint.

Do you want something to eat? I kneel down to help him with the shoes he can't seem to reach. Glancing up, I see him shake his head.

I'll get you a blanket.

It only takes me a minute to grab an afghan out of the closet, but in that time, Josh falls sound asleep.

***

The apartment is pitch dark when I wake up and stumble blindly into the bedroom. A check of the clock before I collapse into bed with Donna reveals it's just after one o'clock. Wrapping myself around my wife's warm, naked body, I decide I feel almost human again.

***

David is sleeping six hours at a stretch. In the Lyman household that constitutes through the night.' We moved him out of our bed and into the cradle when it became obvious neither Josh nor I needed to get up in the middle of the night anymore.

I awaken just before 6 a.m. and discover Josh came to bed at some point last night. Slipping out of my husband's arms, I collect David and go into the living room to avoid disturbing Josh. 

A click of the remote turns the television on at full volume and I hastily ratchet it down.

The Weather Channel promises another hot and muggy August day. I can see the haze settling over the city already this morning. David eats his fill while the sky shifts from pink to blue. I can't believe how much he's grown in the past 11 weeks ­ even though he only weighs just over 6 pounds.

Good morning, Josh's gravelly voice precedes the kiss he presses to the top of my head.

Are you feeling better? I snuggle against him when he sits next to me on the couch.

he decides, reaching over to tickle David's feet. I am.

Our son smiles at Daddy's attention and flails his legs around.

He's holding his head up pretty well, Josh observes.

He'll be dating before we know it.

Ladies and gentlemen, David Dakota Lyman ­ International Man of Mystery. The devilish twinkle in Josh's eyes belies his solemn pronouncement.

Shag­a­delic, baby, I laugh. Why don't you set up the gym­thingy for him?

I ordered this baby gym from an online catalog last month. David can lie on the floor on his back and grab at all sorts of dangling toys. 

It keeps him entertained for longer than I thought possible.

The only downside is the thing takes up all the floor space in the living room, so we can't leave it set up.

Josh is getting pretty good at putting it together and this morning it only takes 5 minutes before the child is entranced by the red, black and white patterns and the soft toys.

Too bad they don't make something like this for adults. Josh grins from his spot on the floor next to David.

***

We can make our own fun, Donna purrs at me. If you feel up to it.

As a younger man, I always imagined my sex life would get stale and boring after I got married and had kids. Thank God that proved to be wrong. Spongebob still pops to life at the very thought of making love to Donna.

Race you to the bedroom, I taunt, jumping to my feet and dashing through the kitchen with Donna at my heels.

We crash onto the bed in a giggling tangle of limbs, tickling one another until the tears come from laughing so hard.

When we finally stop to catch our breath, I lean over and press my lips to Donna's. She parts them for me and her tongue meets mine with unrestrained enthusiasm. It's familiar territory for both of us, but I can never get my fill of her. My hands concentrate on the smooth skin of her hips, the faint stretch marks still a fresh novelty.

***

How are things with Leo? I'm tracing the scars on Josh's chest, hoping he'll open up.

He sighs, his own fingers lazily drawing intricate patterns on my back. I don't know what to do, Donna. I don't know if I should apologize or if I should even be the one apologizing.

You could apologize for being an ass, I volunteer, teasing him before turning serious. But there are concessions to be made all around, I think.

It's just She's my mom and I worry about her, but It's like I know she doesn't entirely approve of me working at the White House still, but I don't shut her out of my life over it.

You feel like she's shutting you out because you don't like her dating Leo? I want to clarify what he's rambling about.

His fingers wander from my back to my hair. And it's not that I don't like her dating Leo. It's I hate not knowing.

Can I read my husband like a book?

If she'd just tell me, then I could get used to it and all. But the not knowing he shrugs. It feels like she doesn't trust me anymore.

You should tell her what you just told me, I advise.

We lay together peacefully for a few more minutes, Josh lost in thought while his fingers continue their patterns.

I'm going to check on David, he announces, pressing a last kiss to my belly button. Then I've got to get into the office.

***

As hard as I try to not to pry into the personal lives of the staff, this time I can't help it. My husband is a busybody and has decided whatever is going on between Josh and Leo requires his, therefore my, intervention.

I brushed him off as long as possible, but finally gave in. Mostly because Josh and Donna remind me so much of Jed and I when we were younger and I want to help them.

My first plan met with stiff resistance from Josh. I expected as much, so I had already concocted Plans B and C.

Plan B will be executed today; Plan C, I'm saving for tomorrow.

***

With any kind of luck, I can get this crap finished in another hour or so. At least the cleaning out of Donna's office part.

If I don't puke all over the rug.

I thought I was over feeling this shitty. I mean, I felt fine at home.

My head is pounding again, too. A brief search of the desk drawers turns up Donna's secret stash of Tylenol. There's no coffee and I don't have the energy to find some water, so I dry swallow four gelcaps.

Mr. Lyman? Chris knocks twice before sticking his head in the room. The First Lady wants to see you in her office.

What could she possibly want? More to the point, how does she even know I'm here? I haven't left this office since I got here at nine this morning. According to my crappy watch, it's nearly 4 o'clock.

Keep filing, I growl at both Chris and Debbie on my way to the East Wing.

***

The first thing I notice when Josh appears at my door is how horrible he looks. I've seen cadavers with more color.

Close the door, then sit, I order.

From the way he slumps into the antique Queen Anne chair, it's self­evident he doesn't feel well.

Are you getting any sleep? No new parent gets enough sleep, even workaholics from the Bartlet Administration.

Yes, ma'am. I got about ten hours last night, he answers. What can I do for you?

Josh, I'm going to stick my nose somewhere it clearly doesn't belong and I trust you'll understand I'm doing it for the good of my own marriage.

Ma'am, if this is about Leo

That's as far as he gets before he turns even paler and bolts out of the room.

***

I make it out of the First Lady's presence, but not much further. I collapse under her chief of staff's desk and grab the trashcan just in time to retch my guts out.

Not that I've eaten since breakfast yesterday.

How long have you had this? Dr. Bartlet's sure hands steady me.

I gag, trying to spit the remaining bile from my mouth. But I felt fine this morning.

You're going home. Can you drive or do you want me to call Donna? The tone of her voice leaves no room for argument.

I can drive. I roll from my knees to a sitting position and lean back against the cool wood of the desk.

Dr. Bartlet lifts my eyelids and takes my pulse. You're not driving anywhere.

***

I'm in Sam's office helping him write a position paper on sanctions against North Korea when Nat, an intern from the First Lady's office, appears in the doorway.

Mrs. Bartlet needs you both! Right now! he exclaims. Mr. Lyman is sick.

Lead the way, I motion for him to go.

Plan B? Sam wonders aloud.

I highly doubt Plan B involved Josh getting sick, I reply.

No, CJ. I mean do you think the reason we're heading toward the East Wing is because she was executing Plan B?

I don't have a chance to answer because we arrive to find Josh sitting on the floor with his head between his knees.

Dr. Bartlet is squatting next to him, talking to him and rubbing his shoulders. She looks up when she hears us approach.

Can you two get him home? she asks us, standing up and helping Josh to his feet.

Sam and I nod to each other and then to the First Lady.

She turns back to Josh. If you feeling like this tomorrow, I want you to see a doctor.

Yes, ma'am, he agrees meekly.

We flank him down the halls, stopping only long enough to grab his backpack. Josh digs the keys to the Mustang out of the front pocket and hands them to me.

You can drive a stick, he explains his choice.

I'll follow you in my car, Sam says when we part ways in the parking lot.

***

Are you going to make it? CJ asks when I fumble for the seatbelt.

Feeling to horrible to answer, I settle for shaking my head no' ­ I'm going to die, I can tell.

Donna's going to love this, she cracks, shoving the car into first gear and releasing the clutch.

I spend the rest of the short drive trying hard not to be sick again. Sam has to virtually carry me upstairs and CJ is right ­ Donna gets upset.

She waits until our friends leave to light into me though.

You said you felt fine, Donna accuses, helping me get undressed and into bed despite her unsympathetic words.

I did, I protest. Honestly, I felt fine this morning.

She hmpfs, but brings a glass of orange juice to me, before pressing her hand to my forehead.

You're not running a fever. Concern has overridden her annoyance and gentled her tone. Get some sleep and see how you feel in a couple of hours.

Thank you, I tell her earnestly, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

I'll be in the nursery. You know, freaking out over tomorrow, she whispers, bending over me and brushing her lips to my cheek.

***

A couple of hours later, Josh pads quietly into the nursery where I'm getting David's things ready for the morning. Common sense tells me it will be hectic with Josh and I going to work and David going to daycare for the first time. I'm trying to get a jump start on it tonight.

Are you feeling better? I glance over my shoulder at his ghostly form.

A little, yeah. Josh shrugs. How about you? Are you ready for tomorrow?

I don't know. Did you get my office cleaned out?

Josh chuckles, bending over and picking David up off his play mat before sitting in the rocking chair.

I'll never reveal my sources, I tell him haughtily.

Mostly cleaned. I can't vouch for the filing though.

Did you tell Chris and Debbie I was serious about firing them?

I did. Are you packing his teddy bear? 

Teddy bear, two changes of clothes, more diapers than you can shake a stick at and a supply of pre­filled bottles.

He'll be fine, Donna. Josh reaches out for my hand and pulls me into his lap.

I know, I sniffle, wiping at my eyes. 

Josh reaches up to kiss the tip of my nose. My day is pretty light tomorrow. I'll finish sorting the stuff in your office. You can ride herd on Dumb and Dumber and teach them to, you know, file.

He plays with David while I finish getting things ready. Once that's accomplished, we retire to the living room to watch the Sunday night movie of the week until Josh can't stop yawning.

I'm too anxious to sleep. It's finally hit me that I'm going to leave my baby with strangers for 10 to 12 hours a day for the rest of his life.

Part of me wants to walk into the West Wing tomorrow and resign. The louder voice in my head says that wouldn't be setting a very good example for my son, quitting when the going gets tough. I should seize the opportunity to influence domestic social policy while I have the chance.

Josh, on the other hand, snores all night.

Which worries me more than David starting daycare because Josh only snores when he's drunk or sick.

***

Dorothy Givens has run the federal daycare center in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building since before the building was called the Old Executive Office Building and Eisenhower was actually president. I've talked to her a couple of times on the phone in the past week and she's waiting for us when we arrive just before 7:30 a.m.

Now, you haven't had the tour yet. Is that correct? she asks, relieving me of the bag full of David's things. Our tour was scheduled the same week as our childbirth class: the week after David decided he was ready to take on the world.

I answer, looking around at the brightly colored murals. We need to fill out the paperwork, too. The copies you faxed us were lost.

Dorothy shakes her head in amusement. I've heard rumors.

So have I. I shoot a glare at Josh.

He looks down at his shoes. I should just stay here and fill out the forms, shouldn't I?

***

I dig the sheet of paper Donna gave me a couple of weeks ago out of my backpack. It's got all the pertinent information on it: David's pediatrician, our insurance information, addresses. The only things not on it are a local emergency contact and the names of anyone we want to authorize to pick David up if we can't.

Sam, CJ, Toby, and Mrs. B. are easy picks for that, but I leave the authorization section blank until Donna and I can sit down and talk about it. That reminds me ­ I need to update my will, too.

A local emergency contact is a little harder. Three months ago, it would have been simple. Now? Not so much.

Sprawling back in my chair, I consider my options. Sam? No, if they can't reach me or Donna, they likely won't be able to reach Sam either. Or CJ. Or Toby.

The only person I can think of who would be around when I'm not is Leo and that takes me back to not so simple.

Running through the list of prospective friends again and again, I keep coming up with to Leo.

Burying my pride, I write Leo McGarry in the blank along with his office and cell phone numbers. According to the brochure, he's automatically authorized to pick up David in an emergency.

***

Dorothy's tour of the facility alleviates 99% of my concerns. Josh is actually worse than I am when it comes time to leave for work.

You be a good boy, he coos, reluctant to hand our son to Dorothy.

She finally just takes David from him, giving me an indulgent smile.

The big manly ones always turn into lumps of goo, she whispers conspiratorially.

He'll be fine, Josh. I grab my husband by the ear and drag him towards the door. If we don't hurry, he's going to be late. Senior Staff starts at 8:15 this morning.

I know, I know, he mutters, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

***

It's not that damn hard! I slam another file drawer shut. 

Ed and Larry both jump at the noise and they're at the other end of the bullpen.

Everything is misfiled. How can two college­educated individuals be so filing­retarded?

We've been at this since 8 o'clock this morning; Josh has been shuttered in my office finishing the initial sorting since the staff meeting ended at nine. Four damn hours without so much as a break. I wanted to go see David, but now I'm going to have to work through lunch.

I start explaining the system again when a loud thud from my office startles all three of us.

I call, trying to open the door from the bullpen. I panic when it won't open. 

I start pounding on the door and calling his name, becoming more irrational with every moment he fails to answer me.

Sam appears at my side, having heard the commotion as he was cruising the corridors.

I call, continuing to bang on the door. Goddamn him, he swore to me he felt fine this morning.

Sam repeats grabbing my wrists and forcing my arms to my sides. There's another door.

Well, duh. Of course, there's another door.

We rush into Josh's office and through the connecting door. 

Josh has collapsed in a heap against the other door.

Sam kneels next to him to make sure he's breathing. 

He looks up at me. 

More specifically, over my right shoulder.

CJ, call a doctor! He commands, then focuses on me. He'll be fine, Donna. I'm sure of it. He's probably just dehydrated or something. Didn't Dr. Bartlet say maybe this was the flu? He probably shouldn't have come to work today and just stayed home and rested. 

Sam is babbling in his attempt to calm me down.

It's not helping.

He repeats his flu theory four times by the time the Navy corpsmen who staff the White House arrive. I don't know either one of them nor can I hear what they're muttering to each other as they give Josh a cursory examination.

Does he take any medications regularly? Has he been sick lately? the younger of the two asks.

He takes an aspirin every day. The past couple of afternoons, he's felt sick. But in the morning he says he feels fine. I answer.

We need to get him to a hospital. He's dehydrated and his breathing is a little too rapid for my taste. You might want to call his emergency contact, the older medic explains while the younger one helps the just arrived paramedics wheel a gurney in.

I'm his wife, I tell him, straining to see over the man's shoulder.

He takes me by the shoulders and guides me into Josh's office. Stay here and I'll see if the paramedics will let you go with him in the ambulance.

Sam and CJ wait with me while the medics do their jobs.

Most of the staff has gathered in the bullpen by the time they wheel Josh out of my office. He's white and sweating and completely unresponsive.

Go with him, CJ instructs. I'll tell Leo and the President.

***

Alone in the cold, sterile waiting room, I pace from one wall to the other, fretting over all the terrible things that could be wrong with Josh. What if he had a heart attack or a stroke or an aneurysm? He's 41; it isn't unheard of.

What about David? I have no way to get back to work to pick him up. 

What if Josh is dead?

Oh God, please!' I plead silently, finally collapsing into a molded, plastic chair. I bury my face in my hands and let the sobs consume me. Please let him be all right.'

I must be hearing things because that sounds exactly like my mother­in­law.

Who lives in Florida. 

Lifting my tear­stained face, I discover the woman sitting next to me with her arm around my trembling shoulders is, in fact, Elisa Lyman.

What are you doing here? I'm dumbfounded.

I came up Saturday afternoon. The First Lady called and thought my presence might be needed to resolve her marital problems, she says wryly. Have you heard anything?

I shake my head.

The two of us sit in a silence that stretches to 30 minutes before Sam and CJ join our vigil. Another 15 minutes of nothingness pass before a doctor appears.

Mrs. Lyman? I'm Dr. Hanson. He introduces himself and gestures for me to sit back down.

We're waiting on some environmental samples, but it appears your husband is suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning. His condition has been exacerbated by hypoglycemia, low blood sugar, he clarifies at my look of confusion, and dehydration. He's on oxygen and IV fluids. Once we get him moved into a room, you can see him. He'll need to spend a day or so with us for tests, to make sure there's no neurological damage.

I nod, not really understanding what carbon monoxide poisoning is or where Josh would have been exposed to it.

***

CJ called about fifteen minutes ago. I sense Jed's presence without even looking up from the blueprint in front of me. The dark blue lines squiggle across the diagram like a child's art project. They think its carbon monoxide poisoning. The HVAC people were reworking some exhaust lines from the kitchen and evidently hooked the line from the gas stove directly into the ventilation spur that feeds Donna's office. It was mislabeled as the exterior exhaust duct on both the blueprints and ductwork itself.

He's been sitting in that office for three days, Jed observes.

I agree, harshly. Annoyance at my friend's interference in my relationship with Josh finally gets the best of me. Evidently people kept bugging him about something he didn't want to talk about, so he kept the doors shut, too.

Jed begins, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders.

No. Seriously, some times you should leave well enough alone, Mr. President. You can't fix everything and this, this thing between Josh and I and Elisa is between Josh and I and Elisa. You have no right, sir. None, I growl, standing and shrugging my coat on.

***

I whisper, leaning down and brushing my lips against Josh's forehead. 

He's awake, but groggy. There's an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose keeping him silent. He does manage to squeeze my hand weakly and his concern is visible in his brown eyes.

I'm fine, I assure him and explain the details of what happened. CJ got the word from the office while we were waiting for Josh to be moved out of the emergency room.

He nods and closes his eyes. Dr. Hanson told me they gave him a sedative to keep him relaxed and let more oxygen do something I didn't entirely understand.

I sit and hold his hand until his chest rises and falls with a regularity that only comes with sleep.

***

I have no idea if the daycare center will release David to me, but I figure the least I can do is try to give Donna one less thing to worry about.

Mr. McGarry? I'm Dorothy Givens. An older woman greets me at the front desk and offers me her hand. I assume you're here to get David Lyman?

How on earth

I checked their paperwork as soon as I heard about Mr. Lyman, she explains, without missing a beat. Proof­positive the gossip network in the executive branch of government is as good as it ever was. I thought they'd send someone to pick him up.

It's only a heartbeat before one of her assistants appears with David and his things.

I just need you to sign for him, Dorothy says with a smile, handing me a pen and a clipboard.

Should I be concerned that you're just giving me someone's child, I ask, suddenly worried about how easy this is.

Dorothy laughs. You're listed as the Lyman's emergency contact. You've been pre­approved to pick him up, so to speak.

I am? Donna must have filled the paperwork out without Josh's knowledge. There's no way he would list me as his son's emergency contact these days. Josh barely tolerates my presence most days.

We wouldn't give him to anybody else, she assures me as we walk toward the door and my waiting car.

I suppose you ought to be in a car seat, I mutter as I climb into the backseat.

A tattered, old teddy bear sticks out of the side pocket of the bag Dorothy handed me and I pull it out with my free hand.

Do you want your bear? I ask the boy rhetorically, feeling rather silly carrying on an extremely one­sided conversation.

He's fussing and crying. My experience with infants is so out of date as to be useless, leaving me unsure if he's hungry or scared or just doesn't care for me. I tuck the bear into the blanket with David, keeping a close eye on him ensure he doesn't suffocate or choke.

Elisa is waiting for me in the main lobby of the hospital. Let's get a cup of coffee, shall we?

I nod, knowing we need to talk.

They have Josh sedated. 

She fills me in on his condition as we make our way to the cafeteria and a quiet table in the corner.

Are you hungry? Elisa coos to the tiny being in her arms. She finally took David from me when he started crying loudly. Leo, there's probably a bottle in the diaper bag.

I dig through it and find a small one. Elisa feels the outside. Satisfied, she pops the nipple in David's open mouth. He looks briefly surprised, but doesn't refuse it.

We need to tell Joshua the truth. She looks me square in the eyes and I see the steely resolve of a woman who has made her decision.

You don't think he's going to be upset we've been toying with him since Thanksgiving? I ask.

Any more upset than he is now?

Point taken, I sigh.

***

Elisa returns with Leo, who is carrying David.

Thank you. I give Leo a kiss on the cheek to express my gratitude after taking David from him.

I fed him a bottle downstairs, Elisa says. He was pretty fussy.

I'm going to change him then.

Elisa hands me the diaper bag and I slip out of the room, confident Josh will remain asleep for a while longer.

***

Seeing Joshua lying there so pale and motionless causes my heart to ache. The dark circles under his eyes stand out like bruises inflicted in some cruel form of personal combat and his lips are blue under the breathing mask.

The other times I've sat at his bedside like this flash through my mind. The first time he was a child of only six. It was after the fire that took Joanie from us. The doctors kept Joshua overnight as a precaution. Noah and I spent the night with him and he clung so tightly to Noah, I wondered how he would ever get over his sister's death.

Thirty­two years later, I received that terrible phone call from Leo. 

_Elisa? Are you watching the news? The name they won't release? It's Josh. You need to come now. They don't The odds aren't good._

His words propelled me on to the train from Connecticut to D.C. without even stopping to pack an overnight bag. I managed to arrive at the hospital just after Joshua got out of surgery. Donna and I sat together, praying, waiting for him to wake. He drifted in and out for almost two days before he opened his eyes and asked for Donna.

It's only been ninety minutes since he collapsed in his office and I feel as if it is the longest I have ever waited. Settling myself onto the bed, I take his hand, careful not to jostle the IV in his arm. 

This is how Noah looked, I comment to Leo, brushing Joshua's unruly hair off his forehead. Those last few nights. So tired and weak from the chemo. He wouldn't let me tell Joshua how sick he really was. He didn't want Joshua coming home to worry over him. He followed the Bartlet campaign on TV and in the magazines and papers. He was so proud of what Joshua was doing and didn't want him to give it up. It was the first time I ever lied to my son, Leo, and because of that lie Joshua never got to say goodbye to his father.

It was what Noah wanted. Leo rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. You shouldn't blame yourself.

But I knew it was wrong and I knew it would hurt Joshua. I'm not even sure if I'm talking about then or now.

Leo pleads, sitting next to me on the bed. It's in the past. It's done and over with. You can't fix the past. But you can fix this thing. What did you just tell me downstairs?

I nod because he's right. I take the handkerchief he's proffering because the tears have started. Joshua and his family are all I have left and I've given him precious little consideration lately.

***

There's a dullness in my brain, like it shut itself off and won't turn back on. I can't seem to open my eyes or move my arms. Cool air floods my mouth and nose and the annoying prick in my arm reminds me of an IV.

Probably because it is, you dumbass, I tell myself.

Someone is holding my hand. I squeeze it, hoping it's Donna.

My mother's voice.

Why is my mother here?

With considerable effort, I pry my eyelids open. Mamme and Leo swim into focus. She's holding my hand and Leo is sitting beside her, holding her other one.

There is no sign of Donna.

How long have I been out?

I remember waking up once and Donna was here. She told me she was okay and something about a gas line. I fight to concentrate on the scene before me. Mamme has been crying, what little mascara she wears has smeared and Leo looks equally serious. He makes no move to release my mother's hand when he sees I'm awake.

Donna went to change David, Mamme says. She relinquishes my hand and pats the top of it. The only noise is the rush of the oxygen flowing through the mask on my face and the rustle of fabric as Mamme fidgets with a handkerchief.

Thank you for sitting with him. Donna's voice invades the stillness, accompanied by David's gurgles.

It's quite alright, dear. We'll leave you three be. Mamme hastily gets to her feet.

I fumble for her hand, trying to tell her she can stay, but I come up empty. It feels like part of my soul is ripped away when she walks out the door with Leo trailing behind.

Mamme has always stayed with me when I've been in the hospital ­ at least for the first night.

Stop it, I chastise myself. You're 41 years old. You can spend the night in the hospital without your mother.

***

I call his name to get his attention. 

His eyes followed Elisa and Leo out the door and lingered there. When he focuses them on me, I can see the pain of rejection.

Oh, Josh, I whisper soothingly.

***

Elisa? Elisa! Stop! I call after her.

She slows enough for me to catch up.

What was that? I demand. The woman confounds me at every turn with her behavior. No wonder Josh is nearly neurotic.

I shouldn't Tears slip down her cheeks. The determination I saw downstairs has vanished.

You're his mother, I point out as we wander the hallways. You'll always be his mother.

***

The only thing I can offer Josh is comfort, but he seems to be finding that in David. The baby is snuggled against his chest. I'm watching them doze in the reflection of the window. From my vantage point, I can see the door open and Leo cautiously sticking his head in the room. He catches my eye and gestures for me to join him in the hallway.

What's up? I ask once the door has shut behind me.

Elisa went back to the hotel, but Leo shrugs uncomfortably.

You think she should be here? I finish questioningly.

She and Josh need to talk before this gets anymore out of hand.

I nod in agreement, trying to figure out how to force my stubborn husband and his pig­headed mother to talk. They're running a couple of blood tests right now. The results determine what they do next. How about I call you when they make a decision and then you can strong­arm Elisa back up here. We can lock them in a room together until they kill each other.

Leo chuckles ruefully. You're as sick of this as everyone else?

Oh yeah, I nod, crossing my arms and glaring at the man who terrified me so when I first started working for Josh. But don't think I don't blame you for some of this.

We don't have to wait long for the test results to come back. Dr. Hanson delivers them in person. Along with the news that they're prepping the hospital's hyperbaric oxygen chamber for Josh.

The pressure inside the chamber allows your blood cells to absorb more oxygen than under normal circumstances and essentially cleanses the body of the excess carbon monoxide, the doctor explains. The therapy session will last about an hour. Afterwards, there'll be another blood test and we'll know where we go from there.

***

The bright spot is I get to travel in a wheelchair, as opposed to on a gurney. 

You aren't claustrophobic, are you? the technician asks, waiting for me to get comfortable on the platform.

You aren't exactly inspiring me with confidence, I retort. No. I'm not claustrophobic.

Have you ever had an MRI?

Not while I was conscious. Can we just do this?

The guy glares at me but consents to sliding the platform into the tube­like chamber. Once I'm inside, he fits a gas mask like contraption over my face and tells me to breathe normally. The door closes with a whoosh and after a couple of minutes my ears pop from the pressure.

With nothing to do but breathe for the next hour, my mind starts to wander. Work considerations quickly fade and refuse to resurface, leaving me to ponder the recent complications in my personal life.

Like I haven't been thinking about that enough lately.

***

Josh looks significantly better when they bring him back to his room. The deathly gray cast his skin had is gone and his eyes are more alert. The IV is gone and the nurses let him change into the pajamas CJ brought over for him.

He's still on nasal oxygen because the doctors don't want to take any chances until they run a CT scan tomorrow. 

I called Leo while he was in therapy and we decided it was probably best to let Elisa calm down some more and for Josh to get a good night's sleep before forcing the two of them to talk. Leo assured me he'd have Elisa at the hospital by the time Josh was done with his CT scan in the morning.

***

CJ, Sam and Toby all stopped by this evening. It helped alleviate the intense boredom. Toby even brought me some work, which is all that's keeping me sane since I sent Donna home. She said she would stay, but with David and all today's excitement, I played the keeping David's routine' card and insisted she go home.

Mostly I want to brood and it's increasingly difficult for me to exercise that aspect of my personality in front of my wife and son. During my little stint in oxygen therapy, I came to the conclusion that I'm actually incredibly grateful this happened to me. Had it not, Donna would have been the one affected and what carbon monoxide poisoning would have done to our unborn child sends an uncontrollable shudder down my spine.

With luck, the CT scan will come back normal and I can get out of here tomorrow afternoon. Get out of here and start cleaning up the mess my relationship with Leo and Mamme has become. Nothing like a near­death experience to make you realize how trivial things really are.

Truthfully, I just want my mother to be happy.

***

I arrive at the hospital early. The CT scan is scheduled for eight and I want to talk to Josh beforehand. David has been abnormally fussy since we left the hospital last night. He cried and screamed most of the night, presumably for Josh because I wasn't able to calm him much.

He's been a little better this morning, mostly because I think he's running out of gas. It takes a lot of energy to be so upset.

Josh is up, but I can tell he didn't sleep much last night. He takes David from me and talks to him until the baby falls asleep.

I hate you, I tease him with a chuckle. How on earth do you do that?

Josh's mysterious powers over our son are mind boggling.

he shrugs. How are you feeling?

I sit on the right side of the bed and take his hand. Tired, but okay. You? It doesn't look like you slept much.

I've been thinking.

Mamme and Leo and everything. He's looking down at our linked hands, running his thumb over the back of mine.

Did you decide anything?

Josh will toss a problem like this around in his head for days and weeks before finally settling on a response. I sometimes wish he'd do that in his professional life, it would save me immeasurable grief.

I need to talk to my mother. He shyly meets my eyes when he says it.

I can arrange that, I nod. After the CT scan?

***

You look better. My mother waits until the orderlies have left before she speaks.

I feel better, I concede, grabbing the pair of boxers set out on the bed and ducking into the bathroom long enough to don them.

If this is better, I'd hate to see what I looked like yesterday, I think, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. 

Mamme's eyes linger on the faint scars bisecting my chest when I exit the bathroom.

You scared me, Joshua. She admonishes me as if I were still a little boy and my gaze falls immediately to my slippers.

Those four words echo an incident in my childhood when I broke my mother's antique vase playing baseball in the living room. Terrified at what my parents would say I ran away from home, taking with me only Bear for company. He and I were going to become hobos and hop trains all across the country. I returned the next morning, having spent the longest night of my life hiding in the bushes near my elementary school. Dad had wrapped his arms around me and told me nothing I could do was so terrible that he and Mamme would ever stop loving me. Mamme had simply looked at me and said those words. You scared me, Joshua.'

They were the same words she had spoke when I woke up after the shooting, too. 

You scared me, Joshua.' 

I have a different perspective on those words now, I guess. Before I always thought she was scared for me, scared I didn't appreciate the consequences of my actions. After the shooting, I came to understand she meant she was scared of losing me.

I don't have any idea what my mother means in this case. Does she mean simply what she says? I doubt it. Things with my mother are never as simple as they seem on the face. If they were, we wouldn't be here, metaphorically speaking.

Is it an admission of how much she loves me? Possibly, Mamme has always been straightforward with her affection, rarely resorting to cloaking it within jokes and stories, usually only when my ego demands to be taken down a few notches. It is one of many things I trace directly to her, my ability to speak and think in layers of meaning. 

I look up from contemplating the bright yellow Spongebob Squarepants slippers Donna got me as a gag gift for Father's Day and into my mother's watery, gray eyes. Joanie had our mother's eyes, I suddenly realize, and our father's infectious laughter. I have our father's looks and our mother's temperament. 

***

It seems prophetic that Josh looks so much like Noah. Not much of me in my son's looks or his personality. Joanie had been a beautiful blending of my German ancestry and Noah's Polish origins. In family portraits long since gone, you could see the family resemblance. Joshua and Joanie were obviously siblings and when the four of us were together it was apparent the children belonged to Noah and me. 

Subtract Joanie and Noah from the picture and you're left with two completely different individuals.

Only Joshua's demeanor conveys our relationship. He is deferential and humble in my presence; his covert attempt to communicate his position in my life. His father was the same way, which is probably where our son learned it. He seems to have learned most of his life's lessons at Noah's knee.

Joshua repeats his question, still standing before me bare­chested.

You should put a shirt on. I reproach him brusquely, clamping down on my resentment of Joshua's resemblance to my late husband.

I'm not at all surprised that he ignores me.

Why are you here?

Evidently the entire world thinks we need to talk.

If you don't agree with them, why make the effort? 

Joshua matches my aloofness tit for tat.

I refuse to look down. Because I think they're right.

***

I've never seen my mother so vulnerable. I imagine this is what she looked like right after Dad died. By the time I arrived almost six hours later, she had collected her strength and begun making arrangements.

Without thinking, I reach out for her hand, seeking the reassurance I always found there as a little boy who was afraid of strangers.

So do I, I tell her. Gathering my recently learned diplomatic skills, I lick my lips and make the first concession. Mamme, I don't care if you and Leo date or whatever, but it is my business. You're my mother and I have a right, an obligation even, to be concerned about your well­being and your happiness.

Mamme looks up at me, meeting my eyes again as she considers my words.

Speaking of well­being, we should sit. You're supposed to have the thing on. She gestures to her own upper lip, indicating the nasal oxygen flow tube I'm supposed to be on for the rest of the day or until my CT scan results come back ­ whichever comes first.

***

Joshua gets settled in time for breakfast to arrive, apparently he wasn't allowed to eat before the CT scan. His meal consists of a rather unappealing bowl of thick, lumpy oatmeal and a runny fruit cocktail. 

Surveying the tray, Joshua screws up his face and dips his spoon in the oatmeal. 

I watch him choke down the first bite, reminded of the way he used to eat vegetables when he was a boy.

he gags, poking the fruit cocktail.

I wait to address his earlier comments until he's eaten a few more bites and shoved the tray away.

Leo and I aren't seeing each other. 

Shock is the first emotion I see flash across his face. Confusion is the last and I can't resist reaching out and closing his gaping mouth.

You aren't? he stutters.

I shake my head. You got so worked up over the idea at Thanksgiving that Leo and I thought it would be funny to just play it up to you. I certainly didn't mean for it to escalate into this, Joshua. Please believe that.

His jaw drops open again as he struggles to give words to his thoughts. 

I spent a great deal of time thinking about that very question. It was the middle of the night last night before I was able to express my motivations.

At first I was just flattered you were so protective of me, I admit. And then it became a way to tweak you, revenge for all those times you aggravated me when you were a child. Then it became an independence issue. Who were you to tell me whether I could date someone? You're my son and as much as I love you, you don't get a voice in my love life.

Joshua is inspecting his fingernails as I speak. To anyone else, it would seem he wasn't paying any attention to me. To me it says I have his undivided attention. He looks up, cocking his head to the side when I finish.

I was wrong, I say simply. Donna told me the other day that she thought you were upset by because it seemed like I was shutting you out of my life, not because you thought I was dating someone.

He sucks on his lower lip for a moment, composing his response. 

Donna's one of the four smartest women I know. Not just book­smart, but life­smart. I'm incredibly lucky she's willing to share her life with me. I know you thought I was putting my career ahead of getting married and having a family, but I wasn't.

What were you doing? I ask the self­evident question.

Do you remember what I told you the day after I proposed to Donna last year?

Something about proving to yourself you could be the type of man your father was.

Right. But I was also looking for a strong, intelligent woman who would love me unconditionally yet tell me off in the next breath if I was being an ass. What I wanted more than anything in the world was what you and Dad showed me was possible, Joshua pauses, fiddling with the napkin from breakfast. I guess I thought that kind of love had to transcend death. Then Donna pointed out it didn't have to exclude the possibility of loving again. That you could feel affection, love even, for someone else without diminishing what Dad meant to you.

He has clearly given this a great deal of thought, far more so than I would ever have given him credit for, prompting my next question. Let me ask you something. If Donna passed away today, do you think you could find someone to love again?

***

I can't suppress a chuckle, remembering a conversation Donna and I had on that very subject several weeks ago.

I couldn't settle for anything less than what Donna and I have. Based on how long it took me to find it the first time, I'd have to say the chances of finding it again are slim to none. It doesn't mean I would refuse it if I happened upon it

It isn't the answer I gave Donna, but it is the truth of my heart.

That's the way I feel, son. Leo is a good friend and a comfortable companion, but we don't have what your father and I shared.

I nod my understand, my acceptance of her explanation.

I'm sorry for what this became, Joshua. I never meant for it to hurt you and I never meant for you to feel less than a vital part of my life, she apologizes. 

Her hand reaches out to stroke my cheek and I capture it with my own. I'm sorry I made you feel like I was trying to control your life, that I disapproved.

I have a message for you from Leo. She hands me a large envelope with my name handwritten on the front. He said you should read it before you come back to work. Now, apparently, you're going to live?

I snort softly. Yes, Mamme. They think I'm going to live.

Dr. Hanson still has to go over the results of the CT scan, but the technician thought everything looked normal.

Then I'm going go. My flight home leaves in three hours. Mamme gets up off the bed and leans over me to kiss my forehead. You've got good friends, Joshua, and a strong family. I'm proud of you.

***

Leo and I are lurking outside Josh's room, waiting for something.

I'm starting to worry ­ there hasn't been any yelling, Leo frets.

The door opens before I can reply and Elisa slips out, teary­eyed, but composed.

None of us says a word, but the message is conveyed. Things are better. Not the way they were before, but the journey to a full recovery has begun.

I'll drive you to the airport, Leo offers.

Elisa smacks his arm. You'll have your driver drive me to the airport, you mean.

She gives me a hug and kisses David before they set off down the hall together.

Josh is sitting up in bed, a discarded manila envelope on his lap.

Whatcha got? I inquire curiously, plopping down next to him with David cradled to my shoulder.

He looks over at me.

What do you have? I repeat, enunciating clearly.

It's a letter from Leo. He hands me a sheet of paper, then leans in to kiss David on the cheek.

Jenny was going through our old photos and she found these of the your family. She had Mallory bring them to me for you. You were probably three or four when they were taken. I expect you back to work on Thursday.'

The first one is of all four of them, Noah, Elisa, Joanie and Josh, sitting on a blanket in a park. Josh is in Noah's lap clapping at whatever his sister is doing. Elisa is sitting next to her husband and son, her eyes watching Noah revel in their children. Seeing the four of them together, the family resemblance is obvious.

Another is of just Josh and his father. Noah is sprawled out on the blanket asleep and Josh is curled up around him, resting his head on Noah's chest. 

There are probably fifteen of the 5x5 black and whites in all, a hodgepodge of moments from one day. 

Joanie would have been 8. Josh is holding a picture of his sister and his father, his thumb caressing the faded image of her face. If I was three.

Do you remember this day?

He shakes his head, sadly. No, it could have been any one of a hundred Sunday afternoons. I don't remember many details from before the fire. Impressions, really, vague memories I can't put into context.

I watch as Josh flips slowly through the stack of photographs.

Dad always used to say nobody would ever know we were all related unless you saw us together, he says, out of the blue, entranced by the first picture of the four of them. 

There's no arguing with that, but I reach out to test the recently mended bridge. You and your mother are a lot alike, even though you don't look like her. 

We argued a lot when I was a kid. Dad would always fix us afterwards. I guess it was inevitable that we'd have a falling out. You're right, we're a lot alike. 

Can I ask you something?

You always call your dad Dad,' but you call your mom Mamme.' Why is that? I've frequently wondered about his pet name for him mother.

Dad taught me to say it, I guess when I was a baby. Instead of mama, Josh shrugs. I always gravitated to him for everything, and I think he wanted my mom to know she was as important to me as he was. So, he gave me a way to tell her.


	33. The More Things Change

I tease my husband mercilessly about his being a four­star nerd in high school. While I was pregnant with David there was more than one night when I couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep and we'd wind up cuddled on the couch watching bad 80's movies on cable. 

Josh does not find it at all amusing when I compare him to Louis Skolnik. 

Over the years, I have worked hard to convince him I was popular, well liked, smart and engaging all through my high school years. 

The truth is something else entirely. 

I was a band geek and Honor Roll student who wore braces and spent four years in that horrible Ôawkward stage.' There are few people from the Madison West High School Class of 1993 whom I ever wish to see again. There are also a limited number of teachers I keep in touch with, a number that's even smaller since Molly Morello's retirement last year. 

High school was the second worst period of my life. Don't get me completely wrong. I had friends. In fact, there was a group of us who were best friends from the time we met in 8th grade band until I dropped out of college after our sophomore year at U­W. 

Holly, Sally, Rachel and I drifted apart over the years, though. They didn't approve of Dr. Freeride or my decision to drop out and support him. 

I increasingly found myself more concerned with making ends meet and acting like an adult than meeting guys at frat parties and getting drunk every weekend. Being around them during that time made me feel like I was missing out on something. 

I doubt much has changed and ever since I let myself be talked into going to the reunion, I've been dreading the experience. 

Tonight, Josh and I have been home from work long enough to eat dinner. He's sitting at the other end of the couch rubbing my feet while I go through the mail. David is lying on the floor fascinated by the cloth toys hanging from his baby gym. 

Mr. Hall wants me to speak to his government class, I glance up at Josh from the letter I'm reading. He's concentrating on a particularly sore spot. you're so good at that. 

I think you should do it, Josh yawns. 

Is it going to be a problem to take time off work? There's no way I'm going at all, much less speaking to a class full of high school kids, unless Josh comes along. 

I doubt it. The Hill is adjourning on Wednesday. 

I thought they were staying another week? I drop the letter I'm rereading into my lap. They have to reconcile the budget bills, don't they? 

Josh looks more than a tad guilty. Leo and I agreed, in principle, to power session on Sunday with the leadership from both sides. 

I shouldn't complain too much. He has been making a formidable effort to limit the time he spends in the office at night and on the weekends. Legislators and lobbyists are beginning to understand he's no longer at their beck and call 24/7. 

Josh served notice last month: he's done playing coy little games. If you want something, you better be up front about it ­ if you waste his time, he'll go out of his way to make your life difficult. 

The first victim in Josh's new priority system was the new House Minority Leader ­ a pretentious Democrat with delusions of grandeur. Congressman Len Thompson pulled his support of the Foreign Aid Bill at the last possible second. He called Josh the day he was released from the hospital last month and wanted to meet for something like six hours on a Sunday to discuss the trade imbalance with France. 

Josh politely said no to the meeting and asked the congressman what he really wanted in exchange for his support, because the Administration would not be implementing sanction against France. When the guy wouldn't admit what he actually wanted, Josh hung up on him. 

Leo and Toby were both pissed at Josh for not taking the meeting, but he stuck to his guns and the next chance he had to screw over Congressman Thompson, he did. Spectacularly. Knocking the legs out from under the congressman's pet highway funding bill and telling him in no uncertain terms that the Bartlet Administration was done courting every vote from people who should have gotten on board a long time ago. 

His recent track record of success with the new no­nonsense negotiation method has won Leo over. Toby, however, remains skeptical. I think it's simply because he doesn't think Josh can reinvent the way we do business just by saying he's going to. 

I consider his superhuman attempts to put our family first before I ask my next question. Do I need to be there? 

He studies my feet intently without answering. 

I prompt, knowing what his answer will be. 

It doesn't really matter, if we have to work Sunday, we'll work Sunday. David is as happy as a clam to get passed around the West Wing. It's a damn good thing I don't have a germ complex. 

When do you want to leave for Wisconsin? He changes the subject, moving his fingers up to massage my ankles.

If I'm going to talk to this government class, we'll have to leave next Thursday. Otherwise we can leave on Friday. What are we going to do about Baby Bear? I tilt my head toward our gurgling infant. 

Another reason I'm not keen on going to the reunion at all was my hesitation about traveling with him. 

Would it be easier to drive or fly? 

Driving is a day out and a day back. We'd have to leave early Thursday morning and early Sunday morning to come home. Flying is less stressful for us, but I don't know about David. I'm thinking out loud. 

He does okay in the car, Josh offers. He's finished my ankles and moved on to my calves. 

The longest he's ever been in the car is an hour, I point out. 

It hits me like a ton of bricks right then. It'll be twenty years before we can make travel plans without worrying about how our children will do in the car. 

What have we done? 

*** 

Margaret doesn't bother knocking before she sticks her head in the meeting. 

Excuse me, I smile weakly at the leadership before getting up. I shrug in response to Leo's concerned glance and follow Margaret into the hall. 

Budget meetings suck. Especially budget meetings with disagreeable congressional leaders. 

What is it? I ask, checking my crappy watch. Two hours have gone by and we've barely compromised on the first issue. It could be because Congressman Thompson, minion of Satan and the Speaker of the House, Glen Allen Walker (Satan himself) are personally dragging this out longer than it needs to be. A Democrat should not be that tight with a Republican. 

Donna needs you. David She trails off because I can hear the problem for myself. 

My son is unhappy. 

Very unhappy. 

I beat feet down the hallway to our offices. Donna is pacing around the bullpen, trying to calm David. He's red­faced and squalling at the top of his lungs. 

Donna catches sight of me and her look of terror subsides a little. David's been fussy since early this morning. She was up with him half the night, but he seemed better this morning. 

What happened? I inquire, taking our son from my exhausted wife. Normally, he'll settle down for me, but not today. I sling him over my shoulder with an old rag and begin rubbing his tiny back. 

Donna leans wearily against a desk, watching me repeat her earlier actions. I fed him, but he won't burp for me. It's probably just gas. 

She's been depressed and quick­tempered since our conversation Thursday night. I'm starting to get concerned. Between the two of us, Donna has taken to the changes in our lives far more easily. Where I've struggled against my workaholic tendencies, Donna has simply made the necessary sacrifices without effort. This is the first time I've seen her give up when dealing with the baby. 

A couple more laps around the bullpen and David finally burps, spitting up roughly half his meal. 

I stop my pacing in front of Donna. Are you okay? I ask, reaching out to caress her face. 

She sighs deeply, nearly in tears. I don't know. 

Do you want me to take him for a while? David has quieted down, seemingly content to rest his head on my shoulder and suck his fist for a while. 

You want to take him back to the meeting? With nine obnoxious politicians and their staffs? 

I look around the bullpen. Donna, what do you call this? 

she consents, gifting me with the faintest of smiles. 

Okay, Baby Bear, I explain, setting off for the Roosevelt Room. The thing you have to understand is there are Democrats and Republicans. Democrats are typically good while most Republicans aren't worth the stuff in your diaper. However, there is a Democrat in here that has gone over to the dark side. You can feel free to cry whenever he talks, okay? 

We reach the door as I finish the boy's first lesson in politics. I swing it inward and return to my seat. David lifts his head off my shoulder and looks around in fascination at the new faces. His eyes settle on Leo and he squeals with delight. 

I apologize for my absence, figuring the reason was rather obvious. 

Everything okay? Leo whispers when I get settled. 

I nod affirmatively. Yeah. He's just a little fussy. 

Fortunately, Leo successfully translates my words into what I actually meant ­ David refuses to stop screaming unless I hold him. 

I didn't realize the White House was running a daycare, Congressman Thompson sneers before we can continue the budget discussion. 

I raise my eyebrows at him and wave my pen to encompass the entire group. You were the ones who had to meet on a Sunday. 

The rest of them wisely hold their peace and we get back to work. 

***

Since Josh is on baby­duty, I take the opportunity to cruise over to the East Wing to see if Dr. Bartlet is available. 

I want to ask her about more than just whether we can safely fly with David. I've been more than a little off the past couple of days ­ completely overwhelmed is more like it. I start every morning with the urge to spend the day in bed with the covers over my head. 

Josh swooping in and being the perfect father every time I need him to be isn't helping either. It isn't his fault. Intellectually I know that. I just feel so inadequate some times. Like he and David really don't need me. 

Is she in? I ask the young intern manning the office this afternoon. He must be new because I've never seen him before. 

Do you have an appointment? He looks at me skeptically. 

Just tell her Donna Lyman would like to talk to her if she has a minute, I instruct. My tolerance for interns has sunk to new lows in the past month. 

He gets up out of shock more than anything else and announces me to the First Lady. 

she exclaims closing the file she was reviewing. Thank God! 

Bored, ma'am? It's blatantly obvious she's in the office because the President is working today. 

Stiff. Come in. Sit down. Talk to me. How's David? 

I settle into one of the comfortable armchairs, feeling a little nervous. He's fine. Josh has him. Teaching him how to reconcile a budget bill. 

Mrs. Bartlet laughs. Under the theory of you can never start to young, I presume? 

Yes, ma'am. Actually, I had a question and felt sort of stupid asking my pediatrician. I thought you might know. 

I can try. Shoot. 

Is it safe for David to fly already? 

She purses her lips, thinking about it momentarily. I can't think of a reason why it wouldn't be. You'll want to have a pacifier handy for him to suck on during the pressure changes, but he ought to be all right. Where are you going? 

I answer with a sigh. For my 10­year reunion. 

You don't sound very excited. Is everything okay, Donna? 

Just her asking makes me want to cry. I feel so overwhelmed. Like my life is going on, but I'm not a part of it anymore. 

Abbey gives me a motherly smile and comes around her desk. Donna, honey, I doubt there's anything really wrong with you. You're three months pregnant. You have a four­month old infant. Your husband, although I hear he's trying, is as high maintenance as Jed is and you're about to go to a dog and pony show with a bunch of people you haven't seen in ten years. You're entitled to be a little strung­out. But if it doesn't go away after the reunion is over, come back and talk to me. Don't worry about it unless voices in your head tell you to drown the baby. Now, if they say drown Josh ­ those you might want to listen to. 

It sounds so simple when she says it, but saying it, understanding it, doesn't make me feel any better about myself. 

Dr. Barlet puts her hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently before continuing. 

Post­partum depression is a real problem, Donna. It can sneak up on you even a few months later. I mean it. If you aren't feeling more like yourself when you get back from Wisconsin, come talk to me again or talk to your OB. And don't feel inferior because Josh has turned out to be a natural at this dad thing. You might not realize it, but you're doing pretty damn well at the mom thing yourself. And in six months, when the second baby comes, you're going to be glad he's been this hands­on. And remember, you don't have anything to prove to anyone back home. 

Walking back to the West Wing, my thoughts drift toward the upcoming reunion. I really don't want to go. If Josh and Fred hadn't pushed the issue, I wouldn't have even acknowledged the invitation. I have no desire to go back to Madison West High School and be remembered as the girl I was in high school. 

One of my mom's favorite sayings is that the more things change, the more they stay the same. I don't want to find out if that applies to my life or not. I don't want think my life is no better than it was ten years ago. Or even six years ago. 

*** 

We are da men! Josh bounces into the bullpen with David on his shoulder. 

Oh yeah? I take our now happy baby from him. Once in my arms, David nuzzles at my breast, whimpering his hunger. 

Oh yeah, Josh smirks, tagging along behind as I head for the office to perform my motherly task. 

I recline on the couch and wait for David to latch on before continuing our conversation. 

We are done. Thanks in no small part to Baby Bear. 

You used our son as a political tool to get the federal budget reconciled? I ask, incredulous that Josh would stoop to something so low. 

Absolutely not. I in no way, shape or form intended for the congressional leadership to stop paying attention to the budget and start fawning over David. I intended to give you a well­deserved break. 

I can't help it ­ his rationale brings an uncontrollable smile to my face. And what did Leo think of this non­strategy of yours? 

Josh's smirk widens. Loved it. Wants David to attend every meeting from now on and says the sooner we have the second one, the better. 

You are such a liar, I laugh.

I'm a politician. I do have to take him by the Oval Office before we can leave. The President wants to see him before we leave this afternoon. 

*** 

Donna laughing is a sight for sore eyes. She's been so down the past month, ever since Fred and I talked her into going home for her high school reunion. 

Then she got that letter asking her to speak to a government class and it's just become worse. 

She seems to glow this afternoon, though. I love watching her while she's feeding David. The way she looks down at him with such love, basking in the way he absolutely needs her. I was a little jealous of the time she gets to spend with him like this when he first came home. However, Donna really makes an effort to help me find ways to feel important in David's life. She built our morning routine around me getting time alone with him. 

I settle back on the opposite end of the sofa. Did you talk to Dr. Bartlet? 

I did. We're okay with flying. In fact, I went ahead and got tickets. I also got the rental car squared away and warned Pat we were coming. The kids are bouncing off the walls already. 

Have you decided if you're going to talk to that class or not? 

Donna switches David to her other breast. I don't know. I don't know what I'd talk about. 

I think about it for a minute. You could just do Q&A. I mean, explain your job and then let them ask you questions about what they want to know. Even if they are stupid questions, it's better than having to think something up. 

I'll consider it, she frowns, silently telling me she's decided against it. 

*** 

I flat out lied to Josh on Sunday. I told him I'd think about talking to the high school government class, but I'd already bought our plane tickets to fly out Friday morning. I just couldn't imagine what I would talk about to a bunch of high school students. Here's what I did, make sure you don't do it? 

What I understand now is why people traveling with small children are allowed to pre­board commercial airlines. Military operations have been conducted with far less planning and baggage. I refuse to tempt fate by holding David the entire flight, so we had to buy a seat for him. Our car seat wasn't rated by the airlines, a situation Josh resolved with a visit to the Transportation Security Administration headquarters. I didn't ask for the details, but he swears there was no felony involved and no regulations were rewritten. The diaper bag is packed with diapers, changes of clothing, toys, and a couple of bottles in case the travel situation isn't conducive to breast­feeding. 

The biggest surprise was watching Josh get David's child seat correctly installed in the time it took the flight attendant to blink. 

You spent all week at TSA practicing, didn't you? I accuse from my seat next to David. The airplane only seats two on each side of the aisle, so we put David in a window seat and Josh is across the aisle from us. We figure we can switch if we have to. 

My husband just looks at me sheepishly. I didn't want to look completely inept. 

As though he has a problem with ineptitude when it comes to Baby Bear.

*** 

David does surprisingly well on the first leg. Donna fed him a bottle shortly after take­off and he slept until we started our descent into Chicago. Fortunately, we don't have to switch planes. That would have had disaster written all over it. And despite Donna's Ôno pacifier' decree, I notice she got one for the trip. For his ears, I think.

I've spent the past two hours reviewing trade concessions to Russia on non­proprietary electronics software and sorely wishing we were on Air Force One. 

*** 

I think I recognize two­thirds of the people on this flight. Most of whom I never, ever wanted to see again after graduation. Nor, as hard as I try, can I connect a name to any of them. They just look familiar, like grown­up version of the kids I knew ten years ago. 

Josh has his head buried in a report and I doubt he would have even noticed we landed in Chicago except for the guy next to him getting off the plane. 

Oh my God! Donna Moss! 

The shrieking voice sends chills down my spine. 

I flash the owner of the voice a pained smile. Jennifer Hatcher. Hi. 

Actually, it's Mulroney. Brent and I got married about five years ago, she flashes her ring in my face to accentuate her words. My own hangs on a chain around my neck in a concession to the amount of water my body has been retaining. I can hardly believe this. I thought you were still in Madison. I mean, the address I got from the school for you was just outside of town and the last time I heard you were still dating that doctor. What was his name? 

Brian Porter, I supply distastefully. 

Excuse me, she turns to Josh. I'm in the window seat here and was wondering if you would trade places with me, so I could catch up with my old friend. We haven't seen each other in like ten years. 

Josh doesn't even bother to look up from his file. 

Well, I never! Jennifer ­ she was always a Jennifer, never a Jenny ­ glares at my husband but steps over him. Once in her seat, she leans around Josh to continue bothering me. Where are you living then? Brent and I are still in Madison. I'm working for a marketing firm and had to make a trip to Denver. It's so good to see you. I can't believe how easy it is to lose track of people, this reunion is just going to be great. Where did you say you were living again? 

I answer shortly. Jennifer Hatcher was the person I hated most all through school. I was her favorite target from first grade on, she's the reason I was not more popular in high school. 

I hate this woman with a passion I normally reserve for Mary Marsh and Ann Stark. 

Washington DC? Really? Doing what? See, because I heard you dropped out of college to put your boyfriend through medical school and then he dumped you and 

Excuse me. Do you mind? Josh growls at Jennifer. I'm trying to get some work done here. 

Well, I asked you to trade places with me but you wouldn't, so why don't you just deal with it? 

It's all I can do to not burst out laughing at the way Jennifer cringes when Josh closes his file slowly and turns to face her. His voice gets incrementally louder as he rants at her. If you were actually engaging in a conversation, I might consider it. However, all you seem to be doing is yammering on at this poor woman who has added maybe six words since you boarded this flight. On the other hand, I'm sitting in my assigned seat, minding my own business and trying to work. Could you please, for the love of God, shut up? 

*** 

I don't know who this woman is, but I can tell by Donna's body language that she isn't someone Donna really wants to talk to. Fortunately, we're about to take off and since this flight is like ten minutes, Yippy over here won't have an opportunity to unbuckle and bug my wife anymore. 

*** 

We don't land soon enough. 

Josh lets Jennifer around him to disembark and she shoots him a hateful glare before smiling at me. Oh, I didn't even see your baby, he's adorable. Did your husband come? I can see her glancing at my left hand. When she doesn't see a ring, I can sense her begin to gloat. Or did the father not stick around? 

He's around, I tell her, turning to unbuckle David from his seat. 

Is he coming this weekend? 

Excuse me? Josh interrupts Jennifer. Donna, if you want to give him to me, I'll go ahead and change him.

I hand over the diaper bag, give Josh a quick kiss and watch my men head down the aisle with the rest of the passengers. 

That rude and obnoxious man is your baby's father? Jennifer scowls. She looks at me a little closer. You haven't changed a bit since high school, have you? 

The urge to bean her upside the head with David's car seat is pretty powerful, but I resist, settling instead for blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. Something I've been trying to convince myself of for over a month. 

I'm not sure what you're talking about, Jennifer. But I can assure you, I am most definitely not the same person you knew in 1993. I'll let Josh know you consider him rude and obnoxious, however. He'll be flattered. Oh, and Jennifer? It's Lyman. That man is my husband. 

Feeling slightly superior for getting the last word, I grab my carry­on and the car seat and join the flow of passengers up the aisle. 

That felt good. 

*** 

Men's rooms are not conducive to diaper changing. I don't get it ­ men today are supposed to be these super­sensitive, hands­on fathers and yet, there's not a changing table in the men's room at an airport. I'm making do with a chair in the middle of the gate.

You like that pacifier, don't you? Too bad Mommy isn't going to let you keep it. 

David and I haven't had a chance to talk since we boarded in Washington this morning. He's still sucking away on the pacifier like it's going out of style. His head is turned to the side, those wide brown eyes trying to take in everything. 

Fresh diaper firmly attached, I scoop him up just in time to catch a glimpse of Donna lugging the car seat off the jetway. She's wearing the same look she had on a couple of weeks ago when she flambéed an overzealous freshman congressman, emphasis on the man part, at a hearing on renewing the Family and Medical Leave Act. 

If she's feeling anything like she did after that incident, I'm looking forward to tonight. 

The motor­mouth fake blonde whose name I never caught skulks off without even looking back. 

Hey, pack­mule, Donna calls playfully, holding up the car seat to indicate I've got the wrong stuff in my arms. 

Oh yeah, tonight is going to be fun. 

Yes, dear, I grin back, handing over the baby and picking up all the rest of the crap. 

Hopefully, Donna's over whatever funk she was in. 

*** 

We're going to turn you into a passable cheesehead, yet, I tell Josh after he parks the rental in the driveway of the farm. I'm still riding the wave of good feeling from my altercation with Jennifer Hatcher at the airport. 

What's that supposed to mean? Josh shoots me a look that says he's pretending to be offended while he unloads the trunk. 

I shrug and liberate a now sleeping David from his car seat. You drove out here without, you know, asking me for directions. 

Unca Joss! 

Aunt Donna! 

Two speeding bullets of mischief barrel out of the house. Five­year­old Kelly pulls up short just before she would have tackled me, but Josh has no such luck with three­year­old Tim. 

Easy, Timmy, he laughs, trying to carry our bags into the house with Timmy clinging to his leg. 

Play with me, Unca Joss! 

Pat comes over to help Josh out. Let Uncle Josh and Aunt Donna get in the house! 

I don't have much time to laugh at my husband because my niece is trailing behind me all doe­eyed and awe­struck. 

Can I hold the baby, Aunt Donna? she whispers once we're in the kitchen. 

Let's go in the living room and you can hold him, okay? I suggest. 

Kelly sits down next to me on the couch and Pat, who hasn't seen him yet either, sits beside her daughter. 

My sister and I show Kelly how to hold David and when she says she's ready, I gently settle the still­sleeping baby into her arms. 

He looks like Uncle Josh, she says, glancing up between Pat and I. How come he doesn't look like you? Timmy and I look like Mommy. Don't babies look like their mommies? 

Sometimes babies look like their daddies. 

And Uncle Josh is David's daddy? 

Your Uncle Josh is David's daddy, Pat confirms with a laugh. 

Kelly looks back down at David before looking back at Pat. Mommy? Where do babies come from? 

I hate you, Pat mouths to me over Kelly's head before sidestepping the question. Why don't you give David back to Aunt Donna, Kelly. I'm sure she wants to unpack. You and Timmy should go outside and play. 

***

I'm in the closet hanging things up when I hear footsteps in the bedroom. 

I call. 

Are you alone? I emerge from the closet to see Donna bending over the crib Pat set up for us. 

Ours is still asleep and the other two were sent outside to play after Kelly asked Pat where babies come from. 

I grimace, wondering how Pat's going to exact retribution for that. Ouch. Speaking of your sister 

She turns around to look at me and I feel the first stirrings within Spongebob. Her eyelids are half­closed and she's biting her lower lip enticingly. Pat knows how to knock. 

I close the distance between us slowly. That's good. 

Donna takes a couple of steps my direction and we meet at the foot of the bed. 

How ya doing? I ask her, running my hand tantalizingly down her arm until our fingers meet and entwine. Donna's moods are changing faster than ever these days. One minute she's fine, the next minute she's dysfunctionally insecure. 

Her only response is to my question is to shrug and reach out to repeat my action, leaving us standing hand in hand. 

Who was the bimbo on the plane? I try a different tack. 

One last half step and our hips touch. 

Let's not worry about Jennifer Hatcher Mulroney right now. Okay? she breathes, leaning in and brushing my lips with her own. Just be grateful power trips make me horny. 

***

How did we not wake the baby? I ask when the post­coital licking and kissing are over. 

We're lounging on the bed; Donna's still naked and my pants are still around my ankles. 

I think we did. Donna reaches for my hand and presses it against her stomach. 

I ask, marveling at the wonderment I still feel over our unborn cub, even though this is the second time and our 17­week­old son lies ten feet away, sound asleep. I can't feel anything. 

It was just a flutter. 

I forget, isn't it a little early? 

Fourteen weeks? It might be, but Dr. Williams said I might notice things earlier this time because I know what to expect and I know what I'm feeling this time. It isn't all new. 

Good point, I agree. 

*** 

It doesn't take long before Josh wiggles around to rest his head on my breastbone. I can't help but smile when I hear his conversation. My big, bad tough politician is such a girly man when it comes to our kids. 

Hey, little cub. It's Daddy. How ya doing in there? He softly strokes my abdomen as he babbles on to the tiny person still forming inside me. I mimic his actions with my hands in his hair. I could happily spend the rest of my life like this. 

The peace is soon interrupted by the impatient demands of our first­born. 

Josh? Can you get him? I am utterly relaxed and have no desire to move. 

He sits up and pecks my lips before bouncing off the bed and falling flat on his face. 

I'm overcome with giggles at the sight of Josh sprawled on the floor, his pants and boxers around his ankles. You might want to take those off or pull them up, stud. 

*** 

Donna's parents are watching David for us tonight while we attend West's football game against the Madison East Purgolders. It's the first of two official reunion events this weekend. Tomorrow night there is a dinner and dance at a local hotel.

It's been years since I've been to a high school football game. I'd forgotten what it was like to be crammed shoulder to shoulder on cold, metal bleachers with several hundred people I don't know. I'm making the best of it, though. Donna's mood has been gradually improving throughout the day and I refuse to be responsible for upsetting her. 

Right now, we're standing outside the concession stand and Donna's scanning the crowd like she's looking for someone. 

Someone she's evidently spotted by the way she's waving her arms in the air. 

Sally is a short brunette who throws herself at Donna when she reaches us. 

When they part, Donna turns to me. Josh, this is Sally Seidelman. She was my best friend in high school. Sally, this is my husband, Josh. 

It's nice to meet you, I smile and offer her my hand. 

*** 

You're still up in Minneapolis? I ask Sally, trying to remember what was in her Christmas letter last year. 

Sally nods. Yep, still working for Dayton Hudson. I'm doing ad layouts for Target now. I can't believe you came! 

I didn't want to come, but Josh and Fred talked me into it. It's not too bad, so far, I admit, unsure of what she means. 

You're in D.C., right? Did you drive or fly? 

We flew, I tell her. We've both got to be back at work on Monday and with David, driving 15 hours just wasn't feasible. 

Sally raises her eyebrows at me in confusion. 

Oh my God. She doesn't know I had one baby, let alone that I'm pregnant again. The only thing I put in the Christmas letter was about our engagement and impending nuptials. 

Josh and I had a baby in June, I reveal, smiling up at Josh, who is standing behind me with his hands resting possessively on my hips. 

Oh my God! Donna! Sally! 

I turn my head to the sound of my name to see Holly Westly running toward us. We quickly exchange hugs and I introduce Josh. 

Has anyone seen Rachel? Holly asks, breathless from fighting her way through the crowd. 

She said she was coming, Sally answers. But when I talked to her last week, she wasn't sure if she'd be here for the game. I haven't seen anyone else from our class worth talking to.

I ran into Jennifer Hatcher on the flight from Chicago, I offer. Except she and Brent got married, so it's Mulroney now. 

You've already had a run­in with the Queen of Madison West? Sally feigns awe, her words filled with scorn. And lived to tell the tale? 

She found Josh to be rude and obnoxious and claims I haven't changed since high school. 

*** 

I watch passively as Sally and Holly trade a look that says they don't think she's changed either. 

What the hell is going on here?

I bite back the actual question and continue taking in the exchange. 

*** 

If you think Rachel isn't going to make it, then why don't we go ahead and find seats? Holly suggests. 

The most we can find together is three, way up at the top against the press box. 

Sally shrugs at Holly and turns to Josh and I. Why don't you two 

Donna can sit on my lap, Josh interjects before she can finish. 

My two friends exchange yet another indecipherable look, but can hardly argue. 

I snuggle into Josh's arms, grateful for his presence and trying to remind myself of Dr. Bartlet's words. I have nothing to prove to anyone. 

Are you still dating that Byron guy? Holly asks Sally. 

No! We broke up last week, Sally answers, setting off a two­way conversation that lasts the rest of the game. 

Neither of them makes any effort to include me. As I think about it on the way home afterwards, I find myself remembering they never did make much of an effort to include me. I always found out about things after the fact. 

I guess things haven't changed much on that front. 

*** 

It's difficult to keep my mouth shut while we pick up David and drive back to the farm. I manage though, because Donna is lost in her own thoughts and shows no interest in discussing the events of the evening. 

Pat and the kids are already in bed when we get home, so I feel safe broaching the issue. 

What's going on, Donna? 

What are you talking about? she replies without turning from the closet where she's hanging up her clothes.

What's going on? I repeat. What's bothering you? You've been all over the map emotionally for the past month and tonight you let those two women who are supposed to be your friends treat you like a doormat. That's not like you. 

How do you know it's not like me? Donna demands, whirling around to face me with tears streaming down her face. How do you know that doormat isn't really the person I am? 

I cross the room and take her into my arms. Because I know you. I know the person you've become. That doormat is the person you left behind when you drove to New Hampshire, Donna. You haven't been her since you waltzed into my office and started answering my phone. They don't know you anymore, baby. I do and I love you. You're my wife, my partner, the mother of my children. You are the single most valuable person in my life. 

*** 

I cry that much harder at Josh's words. When did I lose control of who I am? 

Josh whispers into my hair. Let's get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow, okay?

I sniffle, allowing him to lead me to the bed and hold me tightly while I sob myself to sleep. 

*** 

It's 5 a.m. I'm lying in bed, curled around my wife, naked and awake. 

At 5 a.m. 

God, Wisconsin is quiet. There is no noise save David's faint snoring and Donna mumbling something about tax credits in her sleep. 

If we were in D.C., I'd get up and go for my morning run. This is Wisconsin, however, and it's still dark outside. And there seems to be a disturbing lack of streetlights. 

Maybe I can get my exercise in another way this morning: by making Donna feel loved and vital and valuable.

*** 

By noon I've watched three hours of cartoons and played countless games of hide and seek. Neither Timmy nor Kelly shows any signs of slowing down. 

I see the future and it revolves around children's games. 

Uncle Josh is done playing, Donna comes into the living room and announces, rescuing me from being It yet again.

She leads me out of the house and down a worn path toward a grove of trees. We walk through to the far side where an ancient wooden porch swing hangs under an old oak. It looks west over a pasture full of cows. 

Do we own this? I ask, joining Donna on the swing. It's just big enough for both of us. 

she chuckles at me. We rent the pasture to the Millers down the road. The cows belong to them. Dad and Pat are taking care of leasing rest of the farmland for us. 

It's surprisingly relaxing to sit out here and watch the cows. 

I used to hide out here when we'd visit Grandma and Grandpa, Donna breaks the comfortable silence. My cousins are a lot younger than me and they were constantly bugging me to play with them. 

I'm feeling your pain on that one, I reply wryly. Thanks for the save by the way. 

Any time. 

*** 

We fall back into silence, swaying gently with the slight breeze. I've done a lot of soul searching today. While the kids were torturing Josh, I was upstairs wondering why the opinions of people I haven't seen in five years are worth the mental anguish I've been putting myself and my husband through. 

Yes, I recognize my moods have a direct impact on Josh and vice versa. 

The stuff you said last night? I broach the subject carefully. You meant it, right?

Josh looks at me curiously. Of course I did. What's bothering you, Donna? What can I do to help?

I rest my head against his shoulder and sigh. I'm scared I really am the same person I was back then. I'm terrified that I haven't changed or grown. That everything you and I have is an illusion. 

It's not, Josh whispers, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. And you aren't. I said it last night and I'll say it again, these people don't know you anymore. 

It's true. No one I went to high school with knows who I am anymore. Nor do any of them seem to want to know who I am. Sally and Holly spent the whole football game complaining about the guys they've been seeing, their jobs, their bosses, and their lives in general. I had nothing to add because I love the man I'm married to, I enjoy my job and my boss is the President of the United States. My life is pretty good. 

My old friends do still see me as the confused young woman who thought she was in love and doing the best thing for her relationship. They probably think the only reason Josh and I are married is because I got pregnant and that Josh treats me the same way Brian did. They just assume. They don't ask. 

It's a stretch to call them friends anymore, I realize. My friends are back in Washington: CJ, Margaret, Toby, Sam, Dr. Bartlet, Leo. Those are the people who know me and care about me. 

I don't really want to go to the dinner tonight, I admit. 

I think we should go and mock your classmates, Josh smirks. 

*** 

Tonight's class dinner is shaping up to be as tacky and sad as anything I've ever witnessed. The invitations stated black tie. In the social circles I run in, that means tuxedo and evening gown. To many of these people, it evidently translates into a black tie with a cheap suit. 

I'm not sure why I came to this thing. I'm a long way from the high school band geek I was ten years ago. Four years of college, three years at Columbia Law School and three years as clerk with the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York can change a girl. 

The only reason I could even make it was because I'm presently between jobs. I just landed my dream job as an associate litigator with a mid­sized, highly prestigious firm in Manhattan: Debevoise and Plimpton. 

Because of the contract I signed with them, I was able to take two weeks off between jobs and relax. Then Holly Westly called me out of the blue last week and hounded me into coming. I haven't talked to Holly or Sally Seidelman regularly since I moved to New York.

Oh yeah, there are some is seriously out of touch fashion on display tonight. Even the people who managed to correctly define Ôblack tie' are inappropriately dressed. At 28, the little black dress should not have an open back down to your ass unless you're a professional call girl. 

I see one couple who looks like they know how to dress. A tall, blonde woman in a dark burgundy gown and the guy with her is wearing a tuxedo he didn't get from a rental place. They both look vaguely familiar, but when I see Holly and Sally ­ both of whom look exactly the same as they did the day we graduated from U­W, I know who the blonde is. 

Donna Moss? I gasp in amazement when I reach them. 

The guy with her, who is definitely not the loser podiatrist, is clearly trying to determine if I'm friend or foe. Those eyes radiate a sense of power that's otherwise belied by his seemingly ordinary looks, especially the receding hairline. 

Donna exclaims, throwing her arms around me. 

You look fantastic, girl! I step back and decide the years have been good to her. She's got a whole new level of sophistication and self­confidence going on. 

She's also gained a little bit of weight, but I'm not going to mention that. 

Rachel, this is my husband, Josh, she smiles, introducing me to the man next to her. 

It's a pleasure to meet you, I take his hand. You look really familiar. Have we met before? 

I doubt it, he replies. But I get that a lot. 

*** 

Rachel looks like I always hoped I'd look at this thing: professional and self­assured. 

She smiles at Josh and turns to greet Holly and Sally. You're both in the Cities right? 

Sally points at herself. Holly's stuck in West St. Paul. 

I'm getting out of there soon, Holly pipes up. 

What's everybody drinking? I'll get the next round, Rachel offers. 

Do you want some help, I ask after everyone asks for something different. 

My old friend smiles at me. 

So, you? Where are you at these days? she asks on our way to the bar. 

I reply simply. 

Rachel seems genuinely interested. Doing what? 

Josh and I both work in the White House, I answer and then turn to the bartender. I'll just have a glass of water, please. 

You driving? 

Yes, but I'm also pregnant, I tell her. 

She purses her lips together. Congratulations. So, what do you do at the White House? 

I'm the Deputy Assistant to the Chief of Staff and Josh is a senior advisor to President Bartlet. 

That's where I've seen him before. Rachel snaps her fingers. On the political talk shows. He's the one Mary Marsh accused of being gay. I remember that. I laughed my ass off at his answer about Big Gay Al and an ABBA song. 

*** 

Donna blushes, but giggles. Somebody saw him and a friend of his who is gay out shopping for engagement rings and assumed they were a couple. We were still keeping our relationship quiet at the time. You're into politics? 

I shrug, wangling three of the drinks the bartender just put down. Professional interest. I'm lawyer. It helps to know what those idiots in Congress are up to. 

Give it up, she advises. We've been working at it for years and haven't figured it out yet. 

Those two haven't changed much, have they? I observe, gesturing to our table where Holly and Sally are jabbering back and forth. Five to one odds they're talking about how much better off they are than anyone else when really they are just as pathetic. 

I wouldn't touch that bet with a ten foot pole, Donna laughs, then schools her features as we reach the table. You'd never know we were being catty by looking at her face. 

It is a pleasant surprise to learn Donna is one of the most successful of our classmates. I guess I always figured she'd end up married to that podiatrist with the wandering eye, because she was the one of us who had the most faith in people. Which is why she took the podiatrist at his word when he said she could finish school after he got done with his residency.

I'm glad she finally wised up and dumped him and moved on with her life. 

*** 

Where'd Josh head off to? I ask, setting his beer on the table. 

Holly points toward the restrooms. He said he had to take a phone call. 

Everything okay, Donna? Rachel voices her concern. 

Yeah, if it were anything big, my pager would have gone off as well. I pull the small black device out of my purse and check it. Nope, nothing. 

Josh's fingers trail over my neck and his arm remains around my shoulder when he sits back down. 

What's up? I ask. 

Nothing. Sam and Toby are arguing over the use of the word irenic. Sam wanted my opinion. 

I reach up and caress his fingers. Which was? 

Never call me to ask something that stupid again. He takes a pull of his beer. 

Sam's drunk. I decide, even though I'm fifteen hundred miles and a time zone away. 

I'm sorry, Holly leans forward. Someone called you to ask about a word none of us has ever heard of?

Irenic is an adjective meaning favoring, conducive to, or operating toward peace, moderation, or conciliation. Rachel states smugly. How did they want to use it? 

To describe the new Mideast peace initiative. 

Either Sam or Toby is being overly optimistic. I think I'd go with ephemeral. 

*** 

With a Sam Seaborn­caliber word, Donna delivers a deathblow to her recent recidivism. All it took was the presence of one person from her past to notice she wasn't the timid little girl she used to be. 

We're going to mingle, Holly announces, pulling Sally to her feet. 

What have you been up to for the past ten years, Rachel? Donna relaxes against my arm. Other than law school? 

The other woman sips at her gin and tonic. I'm in New York, actually between jobs right now. I did a three­year clerkship with the U.S. District Court. I start my new job next week. It'll be weird, working for a firm, but the money is good. 

Which firm? I'm curious to see just how good a lawyer she is. 

Debevoise and Plimpton. You've probably never heard of them 

I interrupt. I have. My father was a partner there for forty years. 

*** 

The three of us sit and sip our drinks while Josh fills Rachel in on the internal politics of Debevoise and Plimpton. Holly and Sally never return, thankfully. Several other people stop by the table. A few of them join us for the obligatory Ôwhere are you living, where are you working' questions. None of them accuse us of making it up and all of them walk away amazed at what they hear. 

Jennifer Hatcher Mulroney circles the table a couple of times, but never lands. 

It's rather gratifying. 

*** 

Dinner is bad rubber chicken and the speech is given by some guy named Brent, who spends almost an hour expounding on the benefits of selling life insurance for a living. Brent appears to be with the motor­mouth bitch from the plane.

A DJ starts playing after the life insurance speech and I catch Donna's eye during the second song. 

She smiles at my questioning eyebrow and stands up. 

We head out to the dance floor together. 

Are you having fun? I whisper in her ear as we sway to the music. 

She shrugs, resting her head against my chest. I've had better weekends, but all in all, this is okay. 

What do you mean? I have a pretty good idea, but I want her to say it. I think this weekend has been just what Donna needed. 

*** 

I've spent a month dreading this. Wondering whether I've done enough with my life to impress people who were never worth impressing in the first place. I've been an emotional basket case worrying over it and I never had anything to prove. I have changed. For the better. And if my friends can't handle that, then I don't need them as friends.

Josh pulls me closer. Sing it, girlfriend

Do you mind if we go? I look up at him.

Not at all.

Josh takes my hand and leads me back to the table so we can say goodbye to Rachel. We exchange business cards and promise to stay in touch.

Something I don't think we'll have a problem doing.


	34. All Hallow's Eve

"Hell?" CJ glares at me across her desk. "You and Sam want to decorate the West Wing as Hell for Halloween?" 

Her disgust-filled look makes me squirm uncomfortably. I thought it was a neat idea when Sam presented it to me. "You know, Dante's Inferno. Each room or section could be a different level of Hell with Leo's office being the last one." 

"This is a charity event for cancer patients at the Children's Hospitals, Josh. Do you really think these kids want to see a 14th century Italian's version of Hell? Do you not think it would give the younger ones nightmares? Would you want your kid touring Hell on Halloween?" CJ rails. 

Ouch. Good point. 

"Okay, okay. We'll think up something else," I surrender and duck out of her office before she can throw something at me. Sam is my best friend, but I'm not taking a paperweight to the head for him. 

*** 

"Dante's Inferno? Guys?" I shake my head at the pair of doofuses before me. 

Josh and I invited Sam and CJ over tonight to help brainstorm the Halloween party theme. Sam, Josh and I are lounging around the living room trying to come up with something, well, not stupid. CJ told me about the Hell idea, and while I agree it's on the neat side for adults, it's too traumatic for 9-year-olds with cancer. 

"It sounded cool at the time?" Sam defends his idea meekly. 

CJ must have really taken a piece out of his ass for even suggesting it. I almost feel bad for him. 

"What about the Wizard of Oz? Kids love the Wizard of Oz. The President would make a great wizard and CJ could be Dorothy." Josh offers distractedly. He's preoccupied with helping David stand up on his lap. "Toby could be the Cowardly Lion." 

The buzzer sounds before either Sam or I can remind Josh of Toby's vehement refusal to participate in the planning or execution of this event. 

I pry myself off the couch to answer the door. God, I don't remember being this ungainly with David at 17 weeks. 

"They made you get the door?" CJ scowls, stepping into the apartment with three pizza cartons and a six-pack of beer perched precariously in her arms. 

"Josh is busy." I point to where my husband is hunched over, tickling the giggling baby. 

"Who is that man and what has he done with Josh Lyman?" CJ rolls her eyes in disbelief at the sight of the President's attack dog delighting in his infant son. 

I take the pizzas from her. "Are there anchovies on any of these, by chance?" 

"Dead fish? Are you insane?" She makes a face at the mere suggestion. 

"No. I'm pregnant and craving anchovies." 

"Josh, your wife wants dead fish on her pizza," CJ calls as she follows me through the living room and into the kitchen. 

"There's anchovies in the fridge," he yells back. 

*** 

"You keep anchovies in the fridge?" Sam gapes in disgust. 

I pick David up off the sofa cushion and help him stand on my thighs again, marveling at how fast he's growing. "What? Donna is into the cravings phase. You'd be amazed at the crap we keep in the fridge." 

Sam shoots me incomprehensible look. 

"Who are you?" 

"What?" I repeat, smiling at my son's antics. David has discovered the joy of bouncing, but he's not very coordinated yet. 

"You. This." Sam gestures at the living room filled with baby toys, swings and playmats. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think you'd be happy like this." 

"I don't think I can explain it," I answer, wondering how to help him understand how much my life as changed since I became a father. "You know what the most incredible thing I've done in my life is?" 

"Get Jed Bartlet elected President?" 

"Nope," I nod my head at the child exploring his universe from the safety of my lap. "Bringing this little guy into the world. And I don't just mean having a son, Sam. I mean when it happened, it was just I don't even think I can explain it, but it's the thing I am most proud of in my life." 

*** 

"Is this normal?" CJ grimaces when I liberally coat several pieces of pepperoni pizza with small, herring-like fish. 

"Cravings in general?" I chuckle. "Or craving anchovies?" 

"Either. Both." 

"I craved ice cream with David, in the weirdest combinations. The anchovy thing is new," I admit. "It freaks Josh out a little. I'm craving salty stuff. I have to be careful with it though. To keep my blood pressure down." 

We finish dividing up the pizza and head back to the living room. 

I stop short when I hear Sam comment on Josh's happiness. My husband's response is not at all what I expected. 

In the aftermath of David's entrance into the world, we never had a chance to focus on the event itself. We were so wrapped up in worrying about our baby's health that we never talked about his birth. Josh never told me how he felt and I never told him how much it meant to me. 

*** 

"Here. It's hamburger." Donna sets a paper plate piled with pizza slices on the coffee table before sitting back down on the sofa. 

"Go ahead." I relocate David to my shoulder from my lap so Donna can put her feet in it and indicate she should go first. I'm beginning to think Donna and I will never eat together again. It seems as if one of us is always occupied with the baby - something I think is going to get worse before it gets better. 

"You should tell CJ about your Wizard of Oz idea," Donna says, taking a huge bite of pepperoni and anchovies. 

CJ groans. "No. Absolutely not." 

"You haven't even heard us out yet," Sam protests. 

"You know he'll want to be the Wizard." There's no doubt to whom CJ is referring. "And I'd like to remind you the Wizard was a short little man who hid his true self behind a curtain so people would fear and respect him." 

Sam and I trade a pained look. She's right. Bad connotation. 

Sam gets a sudden gleam in his eye. "Arabian Nights?" 

"NO!" CJ and Donna chorus. 

"Come on, Donna!" I whine, turned on by the image of my wife in a skimpy belly dancer's costume. 

"Absolutely not," she reiterates in the voice I do not argue with. 

*** 

Three pizzas, a six pack of beer and numerous bad ideas later, we're still theme-less. 

CJ and Sam are both yawning uncontrollably and David has long since been fed and put to bed. 

"Let's table this until the morning," CJ suggests after a Grease theme is tossed out and shot down for the fifth time. 

"I think that's an idea we can agree on." Sam stands to stretch. 

Our friends help us clean up and then head out, leaving Josh and I alone. 

"I'm going to check on the Baby Bear," Josh says, brushing his lips against mine. "There's a new bottle of mouthwash." 

"Is that a hint?" I laugh, knowing he despises the taste of anchovies. 

"I've been a good boy all day," he points out, waggling his eyebrows on his way out of our bathroom. 

He's not back by the time I finish, so I wander into the nursery. We moved David in here once he started sleeping through the night. Josh is standing over the crib, bathed in the moonlight. 

"Hey," I whisper, slipping under his arm to watch him tenderly stroke David's curly, brown hair. 

"Hey," he replies with a kiss to my forehead. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yeah," he answers softly. "I'm just thinking about something Sam said while you were in the kitchen. I love you. Do I tell you often enough?" 

"I know you do and I love you, too, babe." I wrap my arm around his waist and gaze down at our son's sleeping form. 

"Let's go to bed," he whispers huskily. 

*** 

Donna turns down the covers before she slips the tie on her robe. Her body is rounder with this cub. I know she's already gained more weight than she did the entire time she was pregnant with David. Some of it, I'm sure, is she never had the chance to lose any during the brief four weeks she wasn't pregnant. 

I continue to be amazed at my own responses to the changes in my wife's body. Just looking at her brings Spongebob to life. I never thought of pregnant women as a turn on until Donna started to show. Now, simply looking at her makes my jeans tight and uncomfortable. 

"You're a goddess," I whisper. Standing before her naked, I slide my hands under the flannel material and up her sides. 

"You're delusional," she scoffs, but her eyes betray the words and I get a shy smile for my compliment. 

My roving hands reach her shoulders and ease the robe off. "Come to bed with me." 

She takes my hand and guides me the few steps to our bed. I allow her to get comfortable first and then lie down next to her, supporting myself with one arm. 

Our lips meet and she tastes of mint toothpaste. The kiss lasts an eternity, our tongues swirling playfully around one another. My hands reach out to touch her silky skin, caressing it. They wander over the swell of our second child growing inside her, down the stretch marks to her hips and thighs. 

"Josh" she moans. 

*** 

"Can we talk about something?" I'm snuggled against Josh's chest, absently tracing the surgical scars bisecting it. 

"Hmm?" 

"I kind of overheard you talking to Sam tonight and I've been thinking about this for a little while, but wasn't sure what you'd think about it." 

Josh continues toying with my hair. "About what?" 

"Having this baby at home, too," I reply, self-consciously dropping my hand to my protruding stomach. 

"Can we do that?" he asks with uncertainty, ceasing his post-coital activities. 

"Of course we can. If we want to." 

"How does that work? Does the doctor come here when it's time or" 

"We'd have to find a midwife" I'm thinking out loud now. 

Josh starts playing with my hair again and even though I can't see him, I know he's biting his lower lip. 

"It's not to late, is it? I mean, you've been seeing Dr. Williams for over four months and wouldn't they want you to have decided this earlier?" 

"If you don't want to, it's okay," I tell him, taking his questioning for disinclination. 

"No, no. That's not what I meant." He lifts my chin with a finger so I'm looking into his eyes. 

*** 

"I" God, how do I explain this to her? "I'd love nothing more than to have this baby at home. It just felt so right with David. I never thought I could do something like that and be there for you like I got to be." 

"You don't think it's weird or freaky?" Donna asks tentatively. 

"Not really," I yawn. It's getting late and I'm tired. 

She smiles up at me brightly. "I'll start doing some research then and talk to Dr. Williams when I see her in a couple of weeks." 

*** 

"I've got it!" Sam voice filters through the partially closed door between my office and Josh's. 

"What?" I hear Josh snap. 

He's been finessing budget numbers all day trying come up with a revenue neutral approach to tightening border security in national parks. I'm sure the last thing he wants to hear about is the Halloween party, but he shouldn't take it out on Sam. 

I get up, silently cursing the fact my waist doesn't bend like it did a year ago. 

"Harry Potter," Sam announces proudly. "The kids will love it." 

"No." 

"Josh, hear him out," I interrupt from the doorway. 

Sam flashes me a grateful smile. 

"Fine." Josh returns his attention to the spreadsheet on his desk. "Float it by CJ." 

"Somebody's in a mood," I observe after Sam retreats. 

"I just don't understand how I got put in charge of this thing, yet whatever I decide has to be acceptable to CJ before we can do it. Halloween is in like three days," he grumbles, tossing his pen onto already ink-soaked spreadsheet. 

I stare at him until he lifts his eyes to meet mine. "Halloween is in seven days. Stop being a jackass and get in the spirit." 

A boyish smile cracks Josh's impassive face. "All right already. I'm in the spirit." 

"Then my work here is done," I state, spinning on my heel. 

Josh's chuckling follows me as I return to my own desk. 

*** 

Outside of Sam sticking his head in my office every hour with a new idea for the Halloween party, it's been a pretty slow day. After the 7 o'clock briefing, I call a full lid and send Carol home. 

Using all the stealth I can muster, I creep into Communications, looking for Toby while trying to avoid Sam. 

Bonnie catches my eye and waves me off. Carol must have told her about Sam and from my position, I can see Toby's light is off. I briefly wonder where he went; it's unheard of for him to be gone this earlier. 

My trek back to my office takes me through Operations, which is also unnervingly quiet, even for a Friday night. Josh's office light is on, so I knock once and invade his space. 

"Hey, mi amour!" 

Except Josh isn't in his office. 

"CJ?" Donna calls quietly from her darkened office. 

I slip through the half-open door to find her relaxing on the couch with the baby. 

Faced with this dilemma, I have to admit something. In the five months since Donna had David and we had the unfortunate baby shower incident, I've been avoiding being alone with her and the kid. 

Public pronouncements to the contrary, babies terrify me. I always thought the sight of babies was supposed to make middle-aged, single women want one of their own. Not me, I see babies as something other women have. I've never even held one for very long, not even when my niece Hogan was born. 

"I was looking for Toby, actually." I gesture to the door, "I can go if you" 

"CJ, sit down and talk to me. We haven't talk talked since Josh and I got married," she pleads. 

I have to think about it, but she's right. We haven't had 'girl time' since before Josh went to London. I fold myself into one of her visitor chairs and take in the sight of my pregnant friend and her helpless infant. 

"How many of more those are you and Josh going to have?" I blurt tactlessly, instantly appalled. "Can I try that sentence over again?" 

I'm blushing down to my toes. I didn't mean to sound so crass. 

"We agreed to have as many as we have," Donna answers simply. 

David is waving his arms around and squishing up his face, looking for all the world like he's about to start screaming. Fortunately, Donna knows exactly what he wants. 

I fidget uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at Donna when she unbuttons her blouse. This is the first time I've been faced with this dilemma. Last night, she left the room to feed him - out of deference to Sam, I think. 

Now, I've always thought of myself as an open-minded individual and staunch defender of women's rights, but the sight of another woman breastfeeding makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. Mostly because I don't understand the etiquette involved. Can we still carry on a conversation? How do I look at the woman I'm talking to without staring? 

I can't help but do just that in fascination when Donna holds her son to her breast. David's little hands press into her flesh as he suckles greedily, oblivious to everything but his own need, increasing his uncanny resemblance to his father. 

"My God, he really is a tiny version of Josh." 

"More and more so every single day," Donna laughingly agrees. "CJ, you just can't understand how much he grows and changes every day. Yesterday he wasn't even trying to roll over and then this morning it's his newest obsession." 

The way her eyes light up as she describes his accomplishments makes me start to understand why she would want another one. "How big is he now?" 

"Just over nine pounds. Give or take. He's doubled his birth weight in four months. His feeding schedule is more regular now, which is nice, and he's sleeping six hours at a stretch. If we put him down around eleven or so, we can actually sleep through the night." 

"I can barely comprehend what it's like to have something growing inside you one minute and then all of a sudden it's a tiny person." 

"It changes your views on some things," Donna admits, looking down at David with unconditional love. She's using her free hand to gently stroke his brown curls. 

"You're talking about abortion?" I ask curiously. 

"Among many, many other things." Donna tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It's longer than it used to be. It now hangs down to the middle of her back. "I'm not saying women shouldn't have the right to determine what's best for themselves, but I can't say it's something I'd consider anymore. You know?" 

"I think so," I whisper, sensing a widening gap in our life experiences. In the past year, Donna Moss has become what society historically decrees women should be: a wife and a mother. I am neither. I am a career-oriented feminist with little desire to marry and bear children. Not that I couldn't have, but that's neither here nor there. 

*** 

"Where is he?" Matt Skinner demands, standing with his balled fists resting on his desk. 

I look at Josh in bewilderment. Where we supposed to bring someone else along? "Who?" 

"He's four and a half months old and I have yet to see him," Matt glowers at Josh. 

Josh grins and digs into his back pocket. Pulling out his wallet, he produces pictures of David. 

I swear I'm trapped in a Leave It To Beaver rerun. 

"You should come over for brunch on Sunday and see him. He's gotten so big," Josh gushes. 

Big? If the kid were a fish, they'd have to throw him back. 

"Can we do this?" I growl. The proud father thing Josh has going on gets tiresome the seventh or eighth time you've witnessed it. I have no desire to waste my time so he can brag about his kid. 

Matt looks guilty and hands the pictures back to Josh. 

"Yeah, sure. Sorry, Toby," Josh tucks his wallet back into his pocket, his smile fading enough that his dimples disappear. He takes a deep breath and launches his spiel. "Prescription drug coverage. We want to work it into Medicare reform." 

*** 

"Do you want to get something to eat?" Donna suggests. We've been sitting in her office chatting about the office gossip. Ginger has a new boyfriend and the President may or may not have finally decided to replace Mrs. Landingham - depending on who you ask. 

"There's nothing good in the Mess," I reply, having surveyed the options before my last briefing. 

"So? Let's go out." 

"What about" I nod at the infant in her arms. He's been yawning and stretching like he wants to go to sleep but every time his eyes close, he jerks himself awake. 

"We'll go somewhere quiet," Donna shrugs. "Can you take him for a second?" 

I take the squirming bundle, instinctively supporting his head, but holding him away from my Anne Taylor suit. He starts to cry almost instantly. Apparently, he hates me. 

Donna smiles indulgently at my look of terror. "Hold him close to your body and move." 

I tentatively do what she says and rock on my heels. To my great surprise, he stops wailing and stuffs his hand in his mouth. Those brown eyes he got from Josh stare up at me, wide and curious. I'm not quite sure what to make of his scrutiny until he pulls his hand from his mouth and smiles at me. I return it reflexively and his grows wider, revealing little dimples. 

"You really are pretty handsome. But you already know that, don't you?" I inform him. Despite the string of drool from his mouth to his hand, he is a cute baby. The hardest thing to believe is he shares his genes with Josh Lyman. 

Donna bustles around her office, getting her things together. I can sense her watching me, out of the corner of her eye. Not unlike a mama bear making sure no harm comes to her cub. 

"Ready?" she asks, taking David from me and strapping him into the carrier. 

*** 

I found a new little coffeehouse/bookstore called Politics and Prose a few weeks ago. We each get coffee and a pastry and settle ourselves into the children's section. It's deserted this time of night and if David wakes up cranky, nobody will care. 

The office gossip has petered out and CJ looks increasingly reflective as I sip my decaf cappuccino and flip distractedly through The Cat in the Hat. 

"Donna?" CJ asks from her perch on a pint-sized couch. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Hmm?" I close the book and set it aside. 

"What you said earlier? About how having David changed your perspective on things like abortion? What did you mean?" 

Her question seems to be an attempt to bridge the gap I can sense growing between us. I'm just not sure I can explain how the experience of having a baby has changed me in a way she'll understand. 

"When I was younger, once in high school and a couple of times with Brian, I was late and I thought maybe I was pregnant. All I could think about was how I was going to make the decision about whether I was going to have the baby or not. Whether or not I could, even. Each time, I boiled it down to the fact that I wasn't in any position to handle being pregnant, let alone having a baby. Thank God, I never actually was, so I never had to make the choice. But now, I can understand the other side of the argument, that life really begins at conception," I rest my hand on the slight swell below my breasts, feeling the faint movements of my nocturnal cub. "I still think it's an individual choice. I don't have the right to tell a woman what she should or shouldn't do. My position on legalization hasn't changed, just my willingness to avail myself to that choice." 

"Sometimes I wonder if I should have gotten married and had kids," CJ murmurs. 

"It's not too late," I offer. "If you and Toby get started right away." 

The faintest of smiles dances across her eyes and her cheeks redden imperceptibly. "Toby and I? I don't think so. I mean" 

"You mean what?" I tease. 

"We're friends is all," she hedges, but I can see some disappointment in her expression. "Toby's in love with Andi. I'm I'm not sure I'm ever going to be in love. But I'm good in bed and so is Toby, so" 

"Best friends with bed privileges?" I surmise with a yawn. It's nearly nine o'clock and Josh is probably home by now and starting to worry. 

CJ nods. "Exactly. You ready to head out?" 

"Yeah," I get slowly to my feet and gather the Dr. Seuss books I'm buying this evening. I want our home to be filled with books for the kids and have started collecting now in anticipation of the future. 

*** 

Donna paged me while I was at Matt's office to let me know she and CJ were going out for a while. It's almost 9:30, however, and she's not home yet. I'm starting to get a little bit concerned. 

Okay, okay. I'm completely unable to concentrate on the report I'm trying to read. 

The sound of a car door slamming summons me to the window again. I've watched all of our neighbors come home this evening. This time Donna's blonde head ducks into the backseat of the SUV this time and I hustle down the stairs to help her. 

"Shopping spree?" I take the bookstore bags and David's diaper bag from her. 

"Books, Joshua. Children's books," she explains with exaggerated tolerance, lifting David from his car seat. 

Donna has an obsession with buying books for our kids before they're even old enough to be read to. She's compiled quite the library over the past few months. Last week, it was Paddington Bear and Babar the Elephant. I'm slightly curious as to what she brought home tonight. 

"Did you and CJ have a good time?" I ask, following her up the stairs. 

"Yeah." She smiles at me over her shoulder. "We really did. It was good to just gossip for a while. How was your meeting with Matt?" 

Closing the door behind us, I take the packages into the kitchen and set them on the table. "It went okay. Matt made some good points, but Toby didn't want to listen to him. It was a wash, I guess. Matt's coming over for brunch on Sunday." 

Donna lifts our slumbering son from his carrier. "Do you want to put David down?" 

I rest his body against my shoulder, automatically swaying back and forth as I make my way to the nursery. A thin line of drool snakes from his open mouth and after I lay him down on his back, I wipe it away. 

"Sleep tight, Bear," I whisper, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his brown curls. "I love you." 

*** 

I'm sorting through the bags when Josh returns to the kitchen. My literary purchases are stacked in the center of the table. 

"One Fish, Two Fish?" He grabs the book eagerly. 

"Red Fish, Blue Fish," I finish, watching unobtrusively while he flips through the pages with a wistful expression. 

"Hey, Donna?" Josh drawls without looking up from the book. 

"Joshua?" I reply warily. I know this tone of voice. This is Josh's 'I've got a plan' voice and it usually means he's got some half-baked scheme to fight inflation or something. 

"What if we did Dr. Seuss themes for Halloween? Each department could do a different book. Communications could do _Green Eggs and Ham_, the Oval Office could do _Cat in the Hat_" 

I decide to play along. "And what would Operations do?" 

"_One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish_," Josh states, matter-of-factly holding up the book in his hands, showing me the cover. 

"I like it," I say, smiling at his new enthusiasm. "But you have to run it past CJ. What if she doesn't like it?" 

*** 

I greet CJ with Starbucks the next morning and, contrary to my wife's proclamations of doom, she gleefully agrees. We quickly cobble together a proposed list of which department will do which book and who gets what character before the Saturday morning Senior Staff meeting. 

"How's the Halloween party planning going?" President Bartlet asks after Leo wraps up the meeting. "We promised the Special Events office we'd have a theme to them by this afternoon." 

"Actually, I'm meeting with Ellen this morning." I close my folder, determined to not give away any more information than I have to. 

"What's the theme?" Toby nearly growls. 

"It's a surprise," CJ jumps in. She wanted to pick out Toby's character; I agreed on the condition she take the heat for it. 

Toby's face darkens. "I hate surprises." 

"I know you do," CJ replies cheekily. 

"Enough," Leo breaks in before the two of them can even get up a full head of steam. "It's Saturday and I don't want to listen to you four squabbling." 

President Bartlet looks vaguely disappointed, but stands up and ends the meeting. He ushers the others out, but grabs my elbow before I can escape into the outer office. "I trust it's nothing to harrowing for small children?" 

"No, sir." I assume he heard about the Dante's Inferno idea. "In fact, if it's all right with you, Donna and I wondered if maybe David could spend the day in the West Wing, sir. Sort of his first Halloween and all" 

He releases my elbow and pats me on the shoulder. "Sounds like a grand idea!" 

Sam is waiting for me. "You're bringing David to work for the whole day on Friday?" 

"Yeah. He'll be fine. My day is pretty light and so is Donna's." 

"But I mean, a few hours Saturdays is one thing, Josh, but this is the White House." He clearly doesn't think much of the idea. "It's not a place for children during business hours. What if he starts bawling?" 

"The President doesn't seem to have a problem with it." I point my thumb back toward the Oval Office. "David's screamed his head off in the building before and it landed him in his very first policy meeting. It's not like I'm going to ask you to watch him or anything." 

We reach Communications to find Toby and CJ huddled together in Toby's office. 

"Josh and Donna are bringing David to work all day Friday," Sam announces, dropping onto the couch. 

"Is that really appropriate?" Toby growls. 

"It's his first Halloween, guys," I say, willing them to get it. 

Where did all this animosity come from all of a sudden? It wasn't six weeks ago Toby was bringing me work to do while I was at home recovering from carbon monoxide poisoning. Now, he barely looks me in the eye. And Sam didn't have any issues on Thursday night when he was over. What am I missing here? 

"Don't forget you're doing Crossfire Monday afternoon," Toby dismisses me. 

"Yeah," I sigh, leaving the three of them and heading back to my office. 

"You don't have to be an asshole to Josh about it. It's not his fault," I hear CJ say as I round the corner to Operations. I have no idea what 'it' is, but I'm sure it has something to do with my family. 

*** 

Josh comes dragging back into our offices after Senior Staff. 

"What's the matter?" I ask. 

"I don't know," he shrugs, sitting on the edge of my desk. 

"You look all pissed off. What is it now?" I lean back in my chair, looking up at him. 

"Toby and Sam," he admits. 

"What?" I demand, not really in the mood to drag it out of him detail by detail. 

"Sam overheard me talking to President Bartlet about bringing David in on Halloween. He thinks it's a bad idea. That the White House is no place for a baby during business hours," Josh recounts his conversation, his eyes never wavering from the portable crib in the corner. 

"What about Toby?" I take his hand and squeeze it, knowing how much those words must have hurt coming from Sam. 

"Pretty much the same thing." 

"And CJ?" I ask, remembering our conversation from the previous evening. 

"CJ didn't say anything, but I heard her tell Toby not to be an ass after I left." 

Thank you, CJ! I don't know what I would have done if she'd jumped on the bandwagon. 

"It's like they don't understand how important my family is to me. Like they expected everything to go back to the way it was before David was born now that you're back at work. Except" he trails off. 

"Have you talked to them about it?" 

Josh nods miserably. "I tried to explain it to Sam the other night, but I don't think he gets it. They don't want to hang out or go out or do anything after work anymore. Or if they do, they don't ever ask us to go." 

He's got a point there. I overheard details of a pretty raucous staff gathering at The Hawk and Dove last month. A party to celebrate a sweet victory Josh engineered over Speaker of the House Glenallen Walken. A party we weren't informed of, let alone invited to. When I heard about it, I assumed they figured Josh and I wouldn't be able to go, not that they intentionally cut us out of the loop. 

"You're making something out of nothing, Josh. They're probably talking about something else entirely and you know they're all nervous around David anyway. None of them have any real experience with babies." I'm sure he's blowing this out of proportion - Toby and Sam wouldn't do what Josh is describing. They're his best friends, despite Toby's frequent protestations to the contrary. 

Josh just shrugs and lets go of my hand. "Are you ready to go?" 

"I've just got to get these research notes together," I gesture at the stack of printouts scattered all over my desk. "Another twenty minutes tops." 

"I'm just gonna Go over some stuff," he jerks his head toward his office and the mountain of work awaiting him. 

*** 

"Hey, Donna." Neville Higgins calls across the studio. 

Neville is a line producer for Crossfire, which Josh is doing this afternoon. Opposite Mary Marsh. 

"Hi, Neville," I give him one-armed hug. "Don't get him too wound up, tonight? Please? I'm trying to keep my blood pressure under control." 

Like Toby didn't almost send it through the roof when he came storming into Josh's office screaming about Communications getting stuck with Green Eggs and Ham for Halloween. He was even less pleased when Josh suggested if he didn't want to do Green Eggs and Ham, they could do The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. 

Neville laughs. "No promises. You're the ones who keep setting him up opposite Mary. It isn't our fault Josh can't control what comes out of his mouth around her. How's this little guy, by the way?" 

We brought David along because he has an appointment with the pediatrician when we're done here. Doctors who keep late office hours are wonderful human beings. 

"He's good. He's growing so fast." 

"Hey, Neville." Josh appears from the make-up room looking appropriately orange. 

"Cute kid you've got there. Are you sure it's yours?" 

"Funny, very funny," Josh deadpans. "Everybody's a comedian." 

"We're on in about three minutes," Neville advises, heading toward the stage. 

"Do good and don't let her bait you." I try to be supportive. 

*** 

"It's a pagan ritual that teaches children to be Satanists. This liberal excuse for a holiday is not something the White House should be advocating!" 

"Let's not turn Halloween into something it isn't. What it is, is an excuse to let little kids get dressed up in cute costumes and hopped up on sugar," I return fire. 

"Halloween is the most powerful day for the followers of Satan," Mary nearly shouts. 

"Only if you worship Satan," I scoff. "If the President of the United States wants to take the time to interject a little levity into the lives of sick children then Halloween's purpose is fun and frivolity." 

The next thing out of my mouth was going to be a suggestion to Mary Marsh could dress up as Satan's minion by just showing up in her street clothes, but disaster is averted. The hosts end the show before I can launch that career-ending diatribe. 

I clean the make-up off and head out to find Donna. She's holding David and talking to Mary Marsh. From twenty feet away, I can see she wants nothing more than to whack my nemesis in the head with the diaper bag. Striding up to them, Mary cuts off whatever she's saying to Donna and turns to me. 

"Nice to see you're as hypocritical as I always thought you were, Lyman," she sneers. "Not only did you get your little blonde secretary pregnant and have to marry her - you've managed to keep her pregnant. I'm surprised you let her out of the house. I'd have thought you'd want her barefoot in the kitchen." 

"Nah," I drawl, my sarcasm coming through in a pinch. "That's your fantasy, Mary. I wouldn't want to take it away from you and Al." 

Donna is biting her lip as Mary stalks off in a huff. 

"Are you okay, honey?" Normally she'd just shrug Mary's despicable comments off, but her hormones are all out of whack today. When Toby came to yell at me over the Dr. Seuss thing, she almost burst into tears. 

"Well, I've got this image of Mary and Al Caldwell in my head now," she replies, not answering my question. 

*** 

I do not have the same visceral response to Mary Marsh my husband does. Where Josh gets all puffed up like a blowfish and starts being a smart-ass, I remain calm and know that since I don't care about her opinion, nothing she says can bother me. 

Except her rather cruel comments about my bearing 'Lyman's spawn' and 'dragging him to places an infant clearly doesn't belong' struck me the wrong way today. I doubt it would bother me if CJ hadn't said something along the same lines the other night. Of course the difference between Mary Marsh and CJ is that Mary really meant what she said while CJ apologized in the next breath for being insensitive. 

"What was she saying to you?" Josh picks up the empty baby carrier and tags along behind me on the way to the car. 

"She was being her normal sweet self," I reply when I get my emotions under control. 

"Oh God. Are you sure you're okay?" He hustles in front of me and walks backward so he can look at me. 

"I'm fine," I assure him. 

"It's just" he starts, but trips over the curb and nearly falls on his butt trying to get the back door of the Trailblazer open. 

I strap David into his car seat and stow the carrier, ignoring whatever Josh is rambling on about. 

"I'm fine!" I snap after climbing in the passenger seat and slamming my door shut. 

He pursues his lips in frustration and starts the car, but true to form, Josh refuses to let it go. He keeps looking at me out of the corner of his eye as he pulls into traffic. After a few miles of fearing for my life, I cave in. 

"You know what you said on Saturday, about how they were all upset about David being in the office on Friday?" I know I blew him off at the time, but Mary Marsh's comments brought it home for me. 

"Yeah. You said I was imagining things. Making something out of nothing were your exact words, if I'm not mistaken," he replies, pulling into the parking lot of our doctor's office. 

"Some of the stuff Mary said wasn't all that far from some of the things our friends have said recently. I mean, CJ apologized right away, but still" 

"I know," Josh sighs, shoving the car into park. "I just don't know what say to them to make them understand." 

*** 

Four days later, I still don't know what to say and it's getting worse. Toby scheduled three meetings requiring my presence this week after seven o'clock - when he knows I'm supposed to be gone - and Sam hasn't poked his head into my office since Monday. Conversations with both of them have been increasingly stilted as the week has progressed. 

Donna and CJ are blaming their behavior on the upcoming full moon and Halloween. I'd buy into the theory if the next full moon weren't until November 9th. 

I'm almost to the point where I just don't care anymore. I'm up to my ass in a never-ending pile of work and my son is growing faster than I thought was possible. I also think I might be going insane. There's one voice inside my head telling me that watching David grow up is far more important than anything I'll do in the White House. It's balanced by another voice telling me I'm making a better future for him by what I'm doing. 

Halloween dawns as a crisp, golden fall day. The kind of day poets dream of painting in prose. Or the kind of day that has me trying to keep a knit hat on top of my kid's head. He keeps pulling it off and sticking it in his mouth. The embroidered Mets logo is covered in slobber. 

President Bartlet insisted I bring David to the Senior Staff meeting since, and I quote here, "I haven't seen him in months." Even though it's actually only been a couple of weeks. 

Toby is seething because the President's ignoring the meeting agenda and playing with my son instead, marveling at how big he is now - 10 pounds Monday at the pediatrician's. Sam, sitting next to his boss, is actively trying to worm his way into the loveseat cushion, in a futile attempt to hide. 

"I like the Dr. Seuss idea, Josh. Very non-threatening." Bartlet already has a rather ridiculous looking red and white felt stove-pipe hat perched on his head. 

In the end, outside of assigning Green Eggs and Ham to the Communications bullpen - because CJ and I couldn't resist subjecting Toby to Sam-I-am following him around with a plastic green ham all day - everyone was allowed to pick the Dr. Seuss character they wanted to be. Leo even got into the swing of it, choosing Marvin K. Mooney as his character. Donna and I stuck with One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. She and I are 'two fish' with matching green outfits and a little 'new fish' one for David. Ellen, from Event Planning, even scrounged up a rickety old buggy like the one from the drawing in the book. 

Toby aside, the entire staff is excited about the kids coming to trick or treat this afternoon and the chance to dress up and act juvenile. I heard Ed and Larry have recruited a brigade of junior assistants - including Donna's and mine - to TP the South Lawn. 

Or maybe it was the Press Room, my source wasn't sure. 

"Can we get started, please?" Toby suggests snidely. 

"You should spend more time around children, Toby," President Bartlet puts David in his lap with no warning. 

Mystified by what to do with a 19-week-old baby, Toby stares down at David blankly. My son is unaccustomed to being ignored by the person holding him and starts to babble in an attempt to get Toby's attention. 

"What, precisely, am I supposed to do with him?" Toby asks the room at large. 

"You could try cuddling him," Leo offers, incapable of containing his mirth. 

"I do not cuddle," Toby states, still staring down at David. 

"Here." David giggles with delight when I scoop him off Toby's lap. 

The rest of the meeting is uncomfortable, due in large part to Toby's annoyance. He bolts out of the room with Sam on his heels as soon as we're dismissed. CJ lingers long enough to make sure I don't need anything and then departs to prep for her morning briefing. 

I gather my files with one hand and almost make it out the door before I hear my name. 

"Josh," President Bartlet calls, causing me to turn around. "They'll come around. It's just now hitting them that your priorities shifted while they weren't looking. They don't know where they fit in your life anymore. You're not the same person you were before David was born. You know you've changed. Leo and I knew you would, because we've been there, but this is new ground for those three. Just give them some time." 


	35. Friends in Low Places

Josh and CJ's Dr. Seuss theme went over great with the kids from the hospital. The young patients paraded through the White House in an astonishing array of cartoon and children's characters; all of them staring at their surroundings in amazement. They started in the East Wing, where Abbey went with a historical theme, and then moved through the West Wing. Sam was a huge hit as he pursued Toby with the plastic green ham.  
  
Josh was in his element, doling out sweets while wearing the full-body green fish suit Ellen down in Event Planning designed. He eventually tripped over himself and spent the last twenty minutes flopping around on the floor to gales of laughter from miniature Spongebob Squarepants', Harry Potters and Bob the Builders.  
  
David did surprisingly well. I was not as optimistic as Josh and figured he'd be screaming most of the day. Our little Bear was more curious about the dressed-up older children than he was frightened and he kept trying to grab pieces of their costumes. He only started to get fussy around his normal 7:30 feeding time, which coincided with his daddy falling over. I seized the opportunity to retreat to my office and close the door to care for David's needs.  
  
Which is why I'm no longer clad in a life-size green fish costume. Josh had to be removed from his to get him off the floor. Everyone else is in a state of half-costume, having shed portions of theirs to allow freedom of movement.  
  
After receiving the heartfelt gratitude of the kids and their parents, most of the staff has congregated in Communications to gossip about who had the audacity to decorate the Residence in toilet paper while the Secret Service wasn't looking.  
  
I'm perched on Ginger's desk, watching her and Bonnie playing with David out of the corner of my eye. Josh is standing next to me, exalting Ed and Larry's TP prowess.  
  
CJ sidles up and levels Ed and Larry with a scowl that sends them scampering in another direction.   
  
Once the three of us are alone, she speaks quickly and quietly. "A bunch of us are heading to Iota after this wraps up. Do you two want to come?"   
  
Josh and I exchange a look. Not counting the night my parents watched him during my reunion, we've never left David with a sitter. Despite some anxiety over leaving my baby with someone else, I would like to go out and just spend some time with our friends.  
  
Like adults.   
  
"If you can't, it's cool. I just wanted to make sure you got invited this time." She tosses a quick glance over her shoulder at Toby and Sam. They're arguing over the disposal of the green plastic ham, oblivious to our conversation.  
  
CJ was the one who finally admitted that Josh and I had been intentionally cut out of the party at The Hawk and Dove last month. A person, whose name she would not reveal, didn't "want to listen to anybody talk about their damn kid all night." I chose not share that information with Josh, figuring he'd go on a tirade and make things worse. But I have a pretty good idea who said it. Another reason I want to go is because I have a feeling if certain individuals open their mouths, things will come to a head tonight. And watching Josh yell at people is incredibly entertaining for me, not to mention a huge turn on.  
  
"Let me see if I can get Zoey to watch David for us. I'll be back," Josh says, correcting divining my wishes.   
  
***  
  
The first non-Secret Service Agent person I run into is the First Lady. She's still dressed as Martha Washington.  
  
"Hey, Mrs. B," I greet her with a grin.  
  
"Josh," she smiles warmly. "What brings you to the Residence?"  
  
"I heard you redecorated and wanted to see it for myself."  
  
Abbey grimaces at the toilet paper hanging from the paintings and portraits we're passing as we walk down the hallway. "We haven't been toilet papered since Elizabeth was in high school. Although Ellie did get picked up for it once, years ago. Jed was furious."  
  
"I almost got arrested once for TPing my English teacher's house," I admit. "But the cop who spotted us was old and out of shape."  
  
"So, why are you really here?" she asks once she stops laughing.  
  
"I'm actually looking for Zoey, Ma'am."  
  
"She and Charlie already left to go out for the night. Did you need something?" Dr. Bartlet stops at the door to the Presidential sitting room.  
  
My face falls at her news. I really wanted to take Donna out tonight and I know she was anxious to get out with our friends for the first time in a long time.  
  
"What?" she presses.  
  
"There's a thing tonight and Donna and I were wondering if Zoey would be willing..." My request peters out. I'm squirming at the prospect of asking the First Lady of the United States to babysit so I can go out with my wife.  
  
"Do you need a sitter?" Abbey asks. "Because Jed and I would be thrilled to watch David for you."  
  
"You would?" I raise my eyebrows, shocked at her offer.  
  
"Sure! Jed and I don't have any plans for the evening. Would you like us to keep him for the night?" she offers.  
  
"I... I don't know, Ma'am. I'd have to ask Donna about that," I stammer.  
  
"When you're ready to go, just bring him to the sitting room," the First Lady instructs.  
  
"Thank you, ma'am. I really appreciate you doing this for us."  
  
"Don't worry about it. You and Donna need to get out once in a while or you'll forget there's more to life than diapers, feeding schedules and work. And your friends will forget you're actually adults."  
  
***  
  
The gathering in Communications disbanded right after Josh left, but he tracks me down in our offices. I tried to get David to nurse again, but he was squalling and letting go every few minutes. Our pediatrician warned me this might happen. Apparently, the hormones pregnancy sends coursing through your body change the flavor of breast milk and while it's okay to continue breastfeeding, babies sometimes self-wean because the taste isn't what they're accustomed to. David eats just fine when he's hungry enough, like earlier this evening, but he's less inclined to suckle for comfort or when he isn't very hungry. This week is really the first time I've noticed anything wrong. Probably because I'm actually looking for it now.  
  
During Monday's visit, Dr. Cohen suggested we start introducing him to solid foods. He sent us home with a little pamphlet about starting babies on solids. It said the best time to introduce new foods is in the morning, so Josh has been spearheading this project during father/son time while I get ready for work. In four days, our little bear has eaten four bites of banana. Not an actual banana, but one of those little jars of mushed banana baby food, because while they might call the food solid, it really isn't. It's more liquefied than anything.  
  
Josh returns from the Residence to find me reduced to trying to force pureed bananas down David's throat. Except I'm not having much success because he keeps moving his mouth and trying to grab the little plastic coated spoon.  
  
"It's not as easy as it looks, is it?" he says, laughing at the sight of our Bear with food smeared all over his face and hands.  
  
I glare at him until he stops and sits down next to me on the couch.  
  
"I couldn't find Zoey. But Mrs. Bartlet says she's more than happy to babysit. She wants to know if we'd like them to keep him all night."  
  
"All night? I don't know..." The thought of leaving my baby with someone else for more than a couple of hours stirs butterflies in my stomach. "Maybe we can just play it by ear?"  
  
"Sure," Josh agrees with an enigmatic smile.  
  
It's unnerving me. "What?"  
  
"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "There are mornings I wake up next to you and I can't believe how lucky I am. You've made me so happy, Donna. I love you so much."  
  
"What brought this on?" Josh doesn't get maudlin in the office. He normally saves this stuff for after, you know, sex.  
  
He reddens a bit and his voice is just this side of squeaky when he speaks. "I don't know. I just needed to say it."  
  
"I love you, too," I tell him, leaning over and placing a chaste kiss on his lips.  
  
***   
  
Before I can get more than the one kiss, I spot President Bartlet in the doorway.  
  
"Good evening, sir." I stand quickly.  
  
"My wife told me we get to keep this little guy for a while tonight. I thought I'd save you a trip and pick him up on my way to the Residence." He steps into Donna's office and reaches for the banana-covered baby.  
  
"Let me clean him up, sir." Donna quickly mops David's face with an ever-present rag before handing Baby Bear over to the leader of the free world. "There's a clean sleeper in the bag, sir. Along with extra diapers and a couple of bottles if he gets hungry. They just need to be warmed up."  
  
"We'll be fine. Won't we, young man," President Bartlet smiles engagingly at David, bouncing him in his arms. "Your mommy and daddy are going to go out and have some fun tonight, so you get to stay with your Grandpa Jed and Grandma Abbey. We'll have a good time, too. Grandpa Jed has lots of stories to tell you."  
  
"Thank you, sir. We appreciate you doing this for us," I tell him, thinking David will be the perfect captive audience for the President to bore with his stories. The kid is captivated by the sound of people's voices. "We'll come get him tonight if it's not too late."  
  
"Don't think anything of it, son. You two have a good time tonight. Close the bar, go home, partake in adult activities." Donna blushes furiously at his words. "Don't worry about David. He'll be fine."  
  
***  
  
"Is he crawling yet?" Bonnie has been peppering me with questions about David for the past thirty minutes. Her sister just found out she's pregnant for the first time and Bonnie is naturally curious about early childhood development. A subject she considers me an expert in based on the exclusive evidence that I have one baby and another on the way.  
  
"Who cares?" Toby mutters from across the table we're crowded around.  
  
"I care, Toby," Bonnie scowls at her boss. She's never taken any of his shit and I doubt she's about to start after having a couple of stiff drinks. "Why don't you stop being so damn grouchy?"  
  
"Here's an idea," Toby looks up from his glass of scotch. "Why don't we stop talking about kids?"  
  
"Here's an idea," Ginger volunteers, snapping back. "Because some of us are interested."   
  
Ginger is sitting to Bonnie's right and I get the impression she's as sick of Toby's latest round of melancholy as Josh is. And my husband is about to blow a gasket.  
  
"Can you believe the Redskins this year?" Sam tries to change the subject to something neutral.   
  
"No more than I can believe I'm sitting at a bar talking about whether or not Josh and Donna's kid is crawling," Toby drains his scotch and stands up.  
  
Josh's eyes track him to the bar.   
  
"Excuse me," he says, starting to get out of his seat.  
  
"Leave him alone," CJ advises, placing her hand firmly on Josh's shoulder to keep him at the table.  
  
"What the hell is his problem?" Thwarted in his attempt to take a piece directly out of Toby's ass, Josh takes his frustration out on the entire table.  
  
"Not everybody is as gung-ho about having babies around as you are," Sam shrugs. "It's nothing personal. It's just they... well... they smell and all and you have to do everything for them."  
  
I stifle a chuckle. "You don't like babies because you think they smell?"  
  
"Well, they do!" Sam protests. "And honestly, Josh, sometimes so do you."  
  
"I smell? What do I smell like?" Josh rounds on Sam, forgetting his annoyance with Toby.  
  
Sam squirms. "Rotten bananas."  
  
Josh squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, trying to grasp what Sam's telling him. He turns to CJ questioningly.  
  
"I'm sorry, mi amor, but Sam's got a point. The past couple of days, you've been kind of... Stinky," CJ pats his shoulder and laughs. "Maybe you ought to change the kid's diaper more."  
  
Toby picks that moment to return with his drink. "Can we not talk about the kid for five minutes? That's all I'm asking. Five minutes! Five minutes without hearing a word about whether the kid has rolled over or sits up or eats or burps! And maybe five good minutes without hearing anything about water retention or hormones or swelling or backaches or anything related to giving birth!"  
  
***  
  
The color drains from Donna's face. With her hand over her mouth, she bolts away from the table toward the door of the club. As a group, our heads swivel from Donna to Josh.  
  
"First of all, the kid's name is David. Secondly, can you not be an asshole for five minutes?" Josh snarls venomously. Without another word, he grabs their stuff and heads after Donna.  
  
Sam looks over at me. We know it's better if Josh rants and raves at you - it means he'll probably forgive you for whatever transgression he feels you've committed. When he does what he just did, leave without disemboweling you, is when there's real trouble.  
  
The problem is Sam and I know what's eating at Toby. I think Josh and Donna would both be sympathetic to the situation, but it's Toby's issue to discuss and he doesn't want to talk to them about it. Every time we bring it up, he mutters something about not needing input from the Cleaver Family.  
  
Bonnie and Ginger and Ed and Larry make their exits as quickly as possible. This left Sam and I with an increasingly morose Toby Ziegler, who tosses back scotch for another three hours until the club closes at 2 a.m. Sam and I tactically agree that Sam will take Toby home to sleep it off , and I'll run by the Lyman's to check on Josh and Donna.  
  
Josh answers the door when I knock. He's wearing a pair of Scooby-Doo boxers with a visibly upset David on his shoulder. The baby is crying and rubbing the side of his head against Josh's bare chest. The screaming reminds me of precisely why I don't want kids.  
  
"What's wrong?" I ask worriedly, stepping in and closing the door.  
  
"I'm not sure. He was fussy when we picked him up and then Donna couldn't get him to nurse when we got home and now he won't stop crying," Josh rambles, pacing around the living room. His hair is sticking up every direction and his exhaustion and frazzled nerves are clear to see. Ward Cleaver never looked like this.  
  
"Is Donna asleep?" I don't see her, but can't fathom anyone sleeping through what I'm hearing.  
  
"Yeah. She was up with him last night for a while. It's my turn," Josh continues to pace, jostling David up and down in an attempt to soothe his sobbing.   
  
I stare at him in disbelief. "She can sleep through this?"  
  
"When you're this tired, you can sleep through anything," he shrugs, his back muscles ripple with the motion and I suddenly understand Donna's incessant need to procreate with this man. "What did you need?"  
  
"I just came by to see if you guys were okay," I hastily explain my presence, scrambling to take my mind off Josh's heretofore hidden physique and my unsettling response to it. "You know, after Toby..."  
  
"Yeah," Josh interrupts, turning to face me. "Look, I'd rather not discuss Toby right now. I can only handle one high maintenance individual at a time and to be honest, my son is a little more important to me than Toby."  
  
"Is there anything I can do to help?" I offer, flinching at the sarcasm in his words. Sarcasm is Josh's first step in emotionally disengaging from someone. I can't help but wonder if Toby has done irreparable harm to their friendship.  
  
***  
  
I shake my head, still unsure of the purpose behind CJ's visit. I'm not very high on people right now and I wasn't kidding when I said I couldn't handle more than one crisis at a time right now.  
  
"What time is Staff?" I ask in an attempt to hurry her along.  
  
"It's at 10, in Leo's office," CJ replies, taking my hint and starting for the door.  
  
"I'll see you then," I say, opening the door for her.  
  
She looks crestfallen at my unwillingness to chat until David launches into a fresh round of wailing. CJ does what I've come to expect from my friends: she flees as quickly as possible, closing the door on her way out.  
  
"Shh..." I breathe into David's curly hair, rubbing his back in time to my circuit around the living room. His continuing discomfort shoves any thought of Toby, Sam or CJ from my mind.  
  
***  
  
Something happened last night. I'm not sure what exactly, but something happened.  
  
Despite Leo's current disagreement with my assessment, I know there's something amiss for several reasons.  
  
First and foremost, I know because Abbey and I were supposed to have David Lyman all last night. However, Josh showed up to get him about 90 minutes after I picked him up from Donna's office.  
  
Secondly, I know because I have eyes. I have never seen Toby look as hung-over as he does right now. He's propped up against the bookcase in Leo's office with Sam standing next to him, subtlety holding him steady. CJ is sitting in one of the wing chairs, her legs crossed and her eyes surveying Toby in the reflection of the window. Neither Sam nor CJ looks particularly pleased with our Communications Director.  
  
The big tip-off to a problem is Josh's absence. He hasn't been late to a staff meeting since they brought David home from the hospital. Fatherhood has done marvels for his abilities to both tell time and manage it.  
  
***  
  
I'm late. Shit. I'm late. I haven't been late to a staff meeting in months, much less a Saturday morning staff meeting that doesn't start until 10 a.m.  
  
I'm late for a valid reason. The only opening the pediatrician had this morning was 9 o'clock. Donna had a 9:15 meeting on the Hill that she couldn't reschedule, so I had to take David to the doctor.  
  
After arriving there the requisite ten minutes early, we had to sit in the waiting room for another twenty minutes before we were taken to an exam room and discovered the reason behind David's inconsolable, continuous wailing. He has an ear infection. Once we got the problem nailed down, I had to stop and get the prescription filled and then race to the White House. By the time I pull into my parking spot, it's 10 o'clock.  
  
I race through the bullpen with the intention of dropping David off with Donna and skating into staff only a couple of minutes late.  
  
Except Donna's not in her office, nor is there any evidence she's returned from her meeting.  
  
Shit.  
  
After last night's altercation, there is no way I can take David to Staff, even if he has finally conked out. Not with Toby there.  
  
What am I going to do? Think...  
  
Got it.   
  
I head for Leo's office via Communications, hoping Bonnie or Ginger can watch David for me. They were clamoring to hold him yesterday; maybe they'll be willing to keep an eye on him for twenty minutes.  
  
Communications is deserted.  
  
Shit.  
  
The only thing I can do is skip the Staff meeting. Leo should understand if I blame it on David's ear infection. I just can't handle dealing with Toby on no sleep. Maybe Charlie can slip Leo a note for me.  
  
Decision made, I head toward the Oval Office and Charlie's desk.  
  
"Can you do me a favor?" I ask, setting David's carrier on the floor.  
  
"I'm not good with babies, Josh. Seriously. Babies see me and cry," Charlie says without looking up from the papers he's going through.  
  
"No, I know." And I do because Charlie and I have spoken about his aversion to babysitting. He doesn't mind being around them per se, just being in charge of them, and I can respect his honesty. "I need to you take a note to Leo."  
  
He finally looks up. "You look like hell."  
  
"Thanks," I reply, feigning insult. I'm sure he's likely understating my appearance.  
  
"What does it need to say?"  
  
"That Donna isn't back from her meeting. I'm in my office and I'll talk to him about it after the staff meeting," I rattle off.  
  
"Sure." Charlie looks a bit confused, but jots down my message and cuts through the Oval Office to deliver it.  
  
I pick David up and head back to my office.  
  
***  
  
A quick check of Donna's office reveals she still isn't back from her meeting and both doors to Josh's are closed. I open the one leading from the bullpen and slip inside, closing the door behind me.  
  
Josh is sitting in his chair facing the South Lawn, his feet propped up on the windowsill. "What's going on?" I ask, curious about the cryptic note Charlie brought me during Staff.  
  
When there's no reply, I pick my way through the crap littered on the floor. Rounding the desk, I discover my deputy is asleep.  
  
"Josh?" I call his name quietly and shake his shoulder at the same time, trying to not wake the baby cuddled in his arms.  
  
"Hmm?" Josh cracks his eyes open.  
  
"Rough night?" I well remember the experience of staying up with Mallory and then trying to work the next day. I always looked about like Josh does right now - death warmed over.  
  
"He wouldn't stop crying." Josh confirms the reason for his disrepair. He lightly caresses David's chubby cheek as he continues. "I took him to the doctor this morning. Turns out he has an ear infection. I guess I should have known the way he was pawing at it all night."  
  
"Don't beat yourself up. It was the first time. You'll know what to look for next time and besides, you can't be too careful," I assure him. "Now, what's going on?"  
  
I didn't buy into Jed's theory that something happened last night until I got a good look Sam, Toby and CJ in my office this morning. Toby is hung-over, and it means a lot of booze was consumed for that man to be feeling it the next morning. Sam is as skittish as I've seen him since he joined the campaign, which is saying something considering the period of time he spent thinking Josh was gay; and CJ is obviously annoyed at both of them.  
  
"Nothing," Josh shrugs. His eyes are trained on the baby sleeping in his arms. His refusal to look at me says he's not telling me the whole truth. "There was nobody to watch David and I didn't want him to disrupt the staff meeting, so I skipped it. I'm sorry if I missed anything important."  
  
The muddy picture clears in an instant.  
  
"Do I need to remind you of the agreement we have?" I ask, keeping my voice even.  
  
"I know, I just... He's sick and I didn't want to cause a problem." Lack of sleep has made him nearly incoherent.  
  
"It's never a problem if you have to bring him to a staff meeting. In fact, I think you should bring him in once a month. From here on out, bring him in on the first of the month. We'll put it on the agenda. If anybody has a problem with it, they can take it up with me."  
  
I glance back over my shoulder at Jed, who somehow snuck unnoticed into the room. "I'm going to get you a bell, Mr. President."  
  
"With due respect, sir, I'd rather not." Josh gets to his feet with care, but disturbs David enough to wake him.  
  
The little boy draws his legs up to his chest and bats at his right ear, whimpering pitifully.  
  
"Shh..." Josh shifts his attention to his son, rubbing his back and rocking from side to side.  
  
I look over at Jed and he nods. I turn back to Josh, who has his head tucked to David's, whispering to him softly. "Take him home, son. You aren't going to get anything done here. I'll make sure Donna heads out as soon as she gets back." ***  
  
Josh and David are both sound asleep when I get home around noon. I used Leo's page as an excuse to end the meeting I was in. I could honestly care less about media ownership caps or the FCC's recent rollback of them, but apparently this is a huge thing on the Hill and we need to pick a side.  
  
Today's meeting with the 'keep the rollback' crowd was nothing short of a mind-numbing excursion into the belly of corporate greed and I haven't even heard from the other side yet.  
  
That's next week.  
  
I pad quietly across the hardwood floor and perch on the edge of the bed. Josh is curled on his side, wrapped protectively around David. I lean over and press a kiss to my husband's cheek.  
  
"Donna?" he murmurs without opening his eyes.  
  
"I didn't mean to wake you." I brush the unruly hair off his forehead. "How's David?"  
  
"Ear infection," Josh mumbles. He blinks his eyes open and rolls onto his back, landing in my lap. "Dr. Cohen thinks maybe that's why he didn't want to eat yesterday. He was running a bit of a fever, too."  
  
"He finally went to sleep," I mention the obvious with relief.  
  
"Thank God," Josh yawns. "They gave him some antibiotics at the doctor's office. There's drops in the bag on the kitchen counter."  
  
"I'll go look at them. Go on back to sleep, honey," I order, knowing he needs it.  
  
***  
  
CJ appears at our door around four in the afternoon. This time she comes bearing Chinese take-out. Having just finished surveying the fridge and our dinner options, I'm glad to see her this time, despite the fact I'm only wearing the boxers and t-shirt I took my nap in.  
  
Donna welcomes her and ushers her into the kitchen.  
  
"Leo said David's sick," CJ says, accepting the beer I hand her.  
  
"It's an ear infection," Donna explains. "Once the doctor gave him some antibiotics, he passed right out."  
  
"Is that why you weren't at Staff this morning?" CJ looks at me over her beer bottle as I open the take-out cartons.  
  
"I wasn't at Staff this morning because there was no one to watch David and I didn't want to subject him to Toby's assholic tendencies," I answer tersely.  
  
"Assholic?" CJ raises her eyebrows. I hand her a plate with rice on it. "I don't think that's actually a word."  
  
"Maybe not, but it's a pretty accurate description of the way Toby's been acting lately," Donna opines, her tone filled with bitterness.   
  
I doubt Toby knows how much his words and behavior hurt my wife. Donna sees Toby as someone who will always tell her the truth and yet protect her at the same time. She fell asleep last night crying because she thinks he has somehow come to see her as less than she used to be and I doubt I can ever forgive Toby for that.  
  
"I'm going to go check on David. If he's awake, he's probably hungry," she says, exiting quickly. Just thinking about what he said caused her get all teary, a predisposition I will not blame on her being pregnant.  
  
CJ takes a chair at the kitchen table, busying herself by picking at the label on the beer bottle. "He doesn't mean it."  
  
"Then he shouldn't say it," I say, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed over my chest. There's no doubt about what we're discussing.  
  
"There's stuff going on you just don't understand. He's going through a tough time and..."  
  
I snort derisively. "We're supposed to be friends. All of us. If he wants me to understand, he needs to tell me what the hell is going on. I'm not so wrapped up in my own life that I can't sympathize with someone else."  
  
"He won't talk to you. He looks at you and sees the kind of father he wants to be, but he doesn't know how and that scares the hell out of him. He won't talk to you because he sees you as perfect and himself as a failure," she sighs, cupping her chin in her hand.  
  
"What are you talking about?" I ask, confused by what she's talking about. "I'm not perfect. I'm barely holding onto my life by the skin of my teeth."  
  
"Just forget it," she answers when Donna rejoins us.  
  
***  
  
CJ left after we ate and made chit-chat for a while. I wasn't very interested in talking to anyone and was far from a gracious hostess. Toby's deprecating words stung when he spat them at us last night and the past twenty-four hours haven't lessened the pain.   
  
When I first walked into the Bartlet for America campaign five years ago, I chose Josh's office for two reasons. First, it would have qualified for federal disaster area funding and second, because the other office belonged to a man who appeared to be terminally depressed and that intimidated me. I thought it would be far easier to convince the person to whom the disaster zone belonged to that I could be valuable than it would Grumpy.  
  
In my heart, I have always loved Toby for the person he is because if he'd been someone else, Josh and I would not have what we had today. I have always given him respect and accepted him for who he was, grouchiness and all. In turn, Toby has always been straightforward and honest with me, while showing me more sensitivity than he does anyone else. He treats me like I'm his little sister. Correspondingly, the only way I can describe Josh's relationship with Toby is brotherly. While they might fight and argue over any number of things, each knows the other will always be there for him.  
  
"Is he eating?" Josh asks, interrupting my solitude. He lowers himself to the nursery floor beside the rocking chair where I'm breastfeeding David in the failing light and rests his head against my leg.  
  
"He's about done, but he did pretty well," I answer, shifting David to my shoulder and rubbing his back. "What were you and CJ talking about earlier?"  
  
Josh draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. "Toby."  
  
I nod, weary of the subject and aware it won't go away.  
  
"CJ said he's got stuff going on we wouldn't understand," Josh offers after a brief silence.  
  
"He should try talking to us about what's going on instead of bitching at us. I bet we could understand what's bugging him if he told us," I scoff.  
  
"That's what I told CJ," Josh sighs. "She said he thinks I'm perfect and he's a failure."  
  
"At what?" Describing Josh as perfect is stretching reality. A lot.  
  
"I don't know. I didn't understand what she was talking about," he shrugs, hugging his knees closer to his chest. "I don't know what's going on in Toby's life."  
  
And therein lies the problem. We've been cut out of the loop, causing a self-fulfilling prophecy of our inability to understand what's going on with our friends.  
  
"I don't get it. I don't get why we turned into such horrible people just because we had a baby." I feel like this is all Josh and I talk about anymore.  
  
"We didn't." Josh breaks off the staring contest he's been holding with the dust bunnies under David's crib to look up at me. "We changed, yes. But we didn't turn into some sort of mutants. We can't make all the accommodation here. They've all got to realize we have different priorities. That isn't going to change and they can either come to terms with it like CJ has or they can continue to be assholes about it, but I'm done worrying about it."  
  
"Mm, hmm," I pat him on the head as I get to my feet, only partial believing him. "If you say so."  
  
His eyes track me across the room to the crib, lingering while I lay David on his back and cover him with the light blanket. When I turn around, Josh beckons me to join him on the floor.  
  
He nuzzles my jaw with his lips and cups the other side in his hand, somehow knowing I need to feel loved and appreciated right now.  
  
"Everything will be okay," he whispers, his words breezing lightly past my ear. "We've got each other and David and the little cub." Josh trails his hand down to my stomach, stroking it to emphasize his words.   
  
He moves leisurely, slowly coming back up my body to run his thumb over my breast while his lips nibble at my ear. I sigh in contentment, causing Josh to chuckle, the sound gliding over my skin and rustling my hair.  
  
"See? We have each other," he repeats.  
  
The kisses he places down my neck are tantalizing, promising tenderness and passion. Tilting my head, I encourage him to continue.  
  
"Lie back," Josh breathes. I do and he eases the oversized t-shirt I'm wearing over my head and skillfully undoes my bra. The Mr. Potato Head boxers I appropriated from him go next, leaving me naked on the hardwood floor of the nursery.  
  
He's gazing down at me now, no longer kissing me, but brushing the palm of his hand over my skin, over and around my tumescent stomach then creeping down to the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.  
  
His lips descend hungrily, his tongue slipping in to meet mine. While we devour one another, I reach down to cover his wandering hand and guide it to where I want it. Josh breaks our kiss with a deep chuckle and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Squarepants a little anxious all of a sudden?"   
  
"Shut up and kiss me, Spongebob," I order, straining up to capture his swollen lips. He pulls away playfully, curling his fingers around mine.  
  
"I couldn't stop laughing at those little kids today," he grins. "I kept thinking about you and this. It was starting to get hot in that damn fish costume."  
  
He emphasizes the word 'this' by groping Squarepants. I quickly trap his hand where it is.  
  
"I think you found something else that's hot."  
  
"And wet," he agrees, leaning down to kiss me deeply.  
  
***  
  
Josh is careful to not collapse on top of me, but to one side. He shifts on the floor, getting comfortable and then pulls me to his side. I rest my face against his chest, letting my hand wander aimlessly over his body and enjoying the warmth of his on my back.  
  
"This is nice," I whisper. The sun finished setting while we were making love and the room is lit only by the glow of streetlights, but it's filled with the sound of David's nonsensical babbling. Apparently we woke him up.  
  
"Donna, we're lying on a cold hardwood floor, where we just had sex not five feet from our wide-awake offspring."  
  
The hand exploring Josh's body encounters fabric where there should be none. In the afterglow of what we just did, I'm in the mood to tease him. "I can't believe you didn't even bother to take your boxers off!"  
  
"Somebody was in a bit of a hurry," he replies in kind.  
  
I prop myself up on one elbow, planting a kiss at the base of his throat. "We can go slower this time."   
  
"You are such a little vixen," he laughs.  
  
"Little isn't a word I'd use to describe me anymore," I purr, knowing Josh really does find me sexy and irresistible in my present condition.  
  
"But you don't have any objection to vixen?" he asks, his voice faltering as I drape myself across him to reach the spot behind his ear.  
  
"None," I breathe, taking the time to leave a well-placed hickey on his neck.  
  
Josh relaxes and lets me play. I periodically reach down and check on Spongebob, not wanting to get myself too excited until Squarepants' little friend has had a chance to recover.  
  
I've gotten his shirt off and am sitting astride him, massaging his chest when the phone in the other room rings.  
  
"Don't go anywhere," I admonish him on my way to the other room.   
  
"Lyman Residence." The way I answer the phone should give the caller a huge clue they're interrupting something.  
  
"Donna, it's Abbey Bartlet. Jed just told me little David is sick. I just wanted to call and make sure everything's okay."  
  
Oh God. I just snarled at the First Lady.  
  
"Everything's fine," I lie. Everything is not fine. My husband is lying on the floor in the nursery, half aroused and horny while I'm in the living room, naked, talking to Abigail Bartlet.  
  
"Just the same, I was wondering if you'd bring him by and let me look at him. Just to ease my own mind. I'm sure your pediatrician is a great doctor, but..."  
  
"When would you like me to bring him in?" The clock on the VCR says it's already 8:30.  
  
"Now would be fine," she says. "Unless you've got other plans this evening."  
  
"No. No other plans." I cast a longing glance at Josh, who's standing in the doorway the nursery, Spongebob fully recovered and jutting out of his boxers.  
  
"Who is it?" he mouths with a frown.  
  
"Abbey Bartlet," I mouth back, listening to her ramble on about the importance of catching ear infections in infants before they turn into serious health problems.  
  
"I'll see you in a few minutes, then," she finishes.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," I reply, dutifully and hang the phone up.  
  
Josh moseys over and grinds his erection to my hip. "What's up?"  
  
"She wants to see David," I explain, extracting myself from his embrace and going into our bedroom. "It shouldn't take long. We can do it again when I get back."  
  
"She wants to see David now? He's fine. I already took him to see a doctor," Josh whines, having followed me.  
  
"She's the First Lady, Josh. Go get David dressed while I get ready," I order.  
  
***  
  
Donna hasn't been gone fifteen minutes when someone knocks at the door.  
  
I open it and come face to face with a contrite-looking Toby. I lean against the partially open door, not intending to let him into my home without good reason.  
  
He's fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other with his head tilted, looking at the ground.  
  
"It has been impressed upon me that I've been a bit of an asshole to you, and your family, the past week and it would be in my best interest to make amends," Toby says, making eye contact at the end of his statement.  
  
"What, exactly, does that mean?" I got a couple hours of sleep this afternoon, but not enough to improve my mood considering my level of sexual frustration. CJ's visit and Dr. Bartlet's phone call now seem highly suspicious.  
  
"Can I come in? So I don't have to do this in the hallway?" Exasperation beginning to build in his voice.   
  
I stand there, blocking the door, contemplating whether or not to let Toby in.  
  
"Josh, please. I'd like to explain," Toby says. My expression hardens at his use of the word explain, prompting him to continue. "I'd like to apologize."  
  
Pursing my lips, I let him in against my better judgment.   
  
"Have a seat," I gesture toward the sofa. After closing the door, I sit down in the armchair across from the sofa.   
  
"Leo said David was sick?" Toby says, clearly fishing for an in.  
  
I stare at him for a long time, biting my lower lip in an attempt to not say the first thing that popped into my head. I settle for the second thing. "I have a hard time believing you want to discuss anything related to my son, Toby. Cut the shit. Why are you here?"   
  
He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again, wordlessly.  
  
"I..." he chuckles uncomfortably and fidgets some more before continuing with remarks I can tell are heavily rehearsed. "I was unconscionably rude last night. Neither you nor Donna deserved to be spoken to that way and for that I apologize."  
  
He erases any doubt he's here of his own free will. The exactness of his apology tells me he was ordered here. By the President, I'd imagine, considering Abbey's involvement.  
  
Toby sits on my sofa with his elbows on his knees, contemplating his fingernails and saying nothing.  
  
"Is there anything else?" I ask, coldly, after a few minutes of silence.  
  
"I know you won't believe this, but Andi and I were trying to have kids up until we got divorced," he says without looking up. "We couldn't conceive naturally, so we were trying in vitro."  
  
I'm biting my lip again for a different reason. The ease with which Donna and I were able to have children must have rankled him. "I didn't know, Toby."  
  
He meets my eyes. "You didn't know because I didn't want you to know. In the divorce decree, Andi got custody of the... well... my..."  
  
"Contributions to the cause?" I supply.  
  
"Yeah," he smiles bitterly. "She called me last week to tell me she was thinking about trying again before it was too late, but I shouldn't worry, she doesn't expect me to pay support or be a part of the kid's life or anything like that."  
  
"Ah." It's the only thing my brain will come up with on such short notice.  
  
We continue to sit there, occasionally casting small glances at each other, but neither of us speaks. There's really not much to say. I understand what Toby wants me to. This is the way we are. If it were Sam, we'd discuss it further, analyzing every detail and possibility. It's Toby, however, and not much more will be said until Toby has a grasp on what's about to happen to him. In three or four months.  
  
"When Donna told you she was pregnant, what went through your head?"  
  
Or I could be wrong and we'll talk about it some more now.  
  
"I already suspected she was before she told me, so it wasn't a huge shock. We talked about having kids from the beginning and I knew she'd gone off the pill. The technical parts of it weren't what got me. What got me was the uncertainty and lack of control I had over the situation. I laid awake at night wondering if I could be as good a father to my child as my dad was to me. I still do," I tell Toby candidly, leaning forward and mimicking his posture. "I wonder how in the hell I'm going to teach David everything he needs to know and protect him at the same time. I'm terrified of having two babies, two totally helpless lives dependent on me."  
  
"I'm afraid I'll turn out like my father," Toby admits.  
  
I raise my eyebrows at him and smirk, trying to lighten the mood a bit. "I think it's a little late for that. You're already a politician."  
  
He groans and sighs at the same time. "I'm not like you, Josh. The sight of babies does not turn me into a mushy ball of emotional goo."  
  
His response makes me chuckle. "I hate to break this to you, my friend, but the only baby who turns me into emotional goo is mine. It's an incredible thing to have a child, but the way it makes you feel inside... I can't explain it. You have to experience it to understand. You look down at your child in your arms and... you just want everyone to feel the way you do about him. David's my son, Toby. My son. My legacy to the future and all I want is for him to be a better man than I am. That's all any father wants for his son. That's the measure of a good father: is my son a better man than I am?"  
  
It's a long heartbeat before Toby averts his eyes. "The bar's pretty low on that, I guess. I'd have a decent shot at succeeding."  
  
"If you can live through the first six months of no sleep and exposure to a previously unknown variety of bodily fluids." I can't help but laugh at the expression of absolute horror on his face.  
  
It fades after a few minutes and Toby returns to looking chagrined. "I'm sorry, Josh. I should have talked to you earlier. CJ and Sam have been telling me to for a couple of weeks, but I didn't think you'd understand."  
  
"Donna's pretty pissed at you," I side-step his apology, reserving my acceptance until he extends one to Donna as well.  
  
Toby sighs deeply. "I guess I probably hurt her feelings, didn't I?"  
  
"Probably?" I raise my eyebrows at her. "Toby, I swear to God, if my wife ever cries herself to sleep because of you again, you're a dead man."  
  
He closes his eyes and nods, looking more miserable than any person I've ever seen.  
  
"I'll talk to her," I say, taking some pity on him. "But you still need to, you know, apologize to her yourself."  
  
"I might stop by tomorrow. Maybe..." he squirms a bit before continuing. "Maybe we can all get together and watch football tomorrow."  
  
"I'll talk to Donna about it and let you know in the morning," I hedge, not wanting to commit to anything without talking to Donna first.  
  
"That's fair, I guess," Toby agrees, getting to his feet.  
  
I let him out and watch him trudge down the stairs. I appreciate how much it cost him to come here tonight and apologize. I just don't know if Donna will be as understanding. 


	36. Married Eye for the Single Guy

To say David is not happy about being dragged out into the dark, cold November night would be the understatement of the year. There he was lying in his crib, minding his own business, playing with his feet and ignoring the adult antics of his parents. Then all of a sudden Daddy was getting him dressed and Mommy was hauling him outside and strapping him into his car seat.  
  
I'm no happier than David. There I was, fooling around with my husband, trying to forget about the way our friends have been acting lately when the First Lady calls summoning me to the White House to check David over.  
  
David started wailing as soon as Josh handed him to me in the doorway. He hasn't stopped, despite the car ride that would normally send him back to sleep. The Secret Service agents cringe at the noise as they pass us through.  
  
"Somebody sounds extremely unhappy," Dr. Bartlet greets me at the door to the sitting room.  
  
"He's just tired and cranky," I reply. "He was doing fine until we got him up."  
  
"Come here, sweetie," she ignores what I said and reaches for David. I hand him over and set the ever-present diaper bag on the floor. Dr. Bartlet sits on the antique, floral-print settee to examine him while I stand to the side, nervously chewing my fingernails.  
  
David calms down a little bit in her arms, no longer sobbing, but still sniffling. Dr. Bartlet looks at his left ear and then the right one. The moment she touches his sore ear, David screams bloody murder.  
  
"That's a middle ear infection all right," Abbey says with a rueful shake of her head. She tucks David in close to her body to comfort him. "I'm sorry, little guy. I didn't mean to make it hurt. Did they give you anything?"  
  
"Some drops and an antibiotic. Josh is all over it," I tell her.  
  
"Good, good." She smiles at me invitingly. "Have a seat, Donna."  
  
I thought this was a bit suspicious. This must be the part where I get some sort of Dutch Aunt talk about David interfering with Josh's work. I sit down in a wing chair across from the settee where Abbey's perched. She's still holding David, who has run out of steam and is whimpering himself to sleep. It's been a long couple of days for my little boy.  
  
"Is everything okay?" Dr. Bartlet asks, a serious expression on her face.  
  
"Everything is fine, ma'am." I have no real desire to discuss Toby Ziegler's opinions with the First Lady.  
  
"You know, when Jed and I first had Elizabeth, I was overwhelmed by the outpouring of gifts and the friends who came calling and offered to watch her for us and all that," Abbey waves a hand in the air.  
  
Oh God. It's worse than a Dutch Aunt talk - it's a pep talk. I'm about sick of people meddling in my life.  
  
"By the time I was willing to let her out of my sight, however, all those friends had disappeared. I hadn't spoken to any of them since the week after Elizabeth was born and most of them didn't reappear until they started having their own children."  
  
"Yes, ma'am." I school my features to look moderately interested, hoping against hope this will go quickly. Dr. Bartlet can be as long winded as her husband if she isn't careful.  
  
She narrows her eyes and purses her lips. I don't think I was successful in appearing as though I care about what she's saying. I just want to take David home and get some rest. I've been feeling uncharacteristically run down this week. I think it's a combination of emotions and hormones.  
  
"I won't keep you any longer. You ought to get this guy home and to bed. I'm sure he hasn't slept much in the past couple of days." Dr. Bartlet stands up and returns David to me. "If you need anything, let me know."  
  
***  
  
Lingering at the window, I watch through the curtain as Toby pulls away in his ancient Dodge Dart.  
  
I sympathize with how terrified he must be at the prospect of having a kid and how frustrated at having no control over it. His ex-wife is holding all the cards. At least I went into parenthood with my eyes open, having discussed the issue with Donna. Not for the first time do I appreciate the conversation Donna insisted we have that snowy morning after we plunged ahead with our relationship.  
  
Donna's need to lay everything out from the beginning scared the hell out of me at the time, but the roadmap we built is the foundation of our marriage because we were honest with one another from the get go. For example, I know we're likely to end up with ten kids at the rate we're going because Donna doesn't want to go back on the pill. Donna knows all of those children will be raised Jewish. We know because it's what we agreed to.  
  
Toby doesn't have that. Toby has an ex-wife who has aspirations of being a mother and custody of his, you know, previous contributions to the cause.  
  
Donna is never going to understand this.  
  
***  
  
One thing goes right today. There's a parking spot right in front of the door. I whip the SUV into it and glance up at our window out of habit. Josh is standing there, peering out the curtains. His silhouetted figure is gone when I turn around with David in my arms to trudge up the stairs.  
  
"Is he going to live?" Josh meets me at the door and takes David from me. I shut the door and follow him to the couch.  
  
"Oddly enough, he has an ear infection." I match his sarcasm tit for tat.  
  
Josh props David up on his lap, helping him sit up.  
  
"There's a conspiracy," he announces, concentrating on slowly removing his hands from the baby.  
  
"He's going to." I start, but David topples over before I can finish. Bear isn't very stable this late at night. Especially after he's been dragged hither and yon all day.  
  
Josh catches him mid-tumble and hoists him to his shoulder, where David promptly starts to gnaw on Daddy's t-shirt.  
  
This is the part of my life I love the most. I can't help but be happy when I'm with my husband and my baby, just being a family. A faint flutter in my abdomen widens the smile on my face. It won't be too long before our family grows just a bit larger and a large family is exactly what I want.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Josh asks, wrapping his free arm around my shoulder.  
  
I snuggle closer to him, resting my head against his chest. "You. Us. How happy our family makes me. Even though our friends are being difficult. What did you mean there's a conspiracy?"  
  
He sighs so deeply I can hear his lungs rattle.  
  
"Josh? What?" I pull away and sit up, the smile fading from my face. I leave one hand on his arm, maintaining a connection between us.  
  
"Toby showed up two minutes after you left," Josh begins hesitantly.  
  
***  
  
I'm not real anxious to ruin Donna's mood. It's been rare enough to not have her on the verge of tears recently.  
  
"What?" Her blue eyes flash angrily and her grip tightens around my bicep.  
  
"Toby showed up two minutes after you left," I repeat.  
  
"I was lured out of the house?"  
  
Despite the rhetorical nature of her question, I gulp and nod. "As near as I can figure."  
  
"What did he want?"  
  
"To explain and apologize."  
  
"Toby Ziegler hasn't apologized for a thing in his life. He's incapable of admitting he's wrong or insensitive or. wrong!" Donna spits.  
  
"I don't deny that," I say in an attempt to placate her.  
  
"I suppose you just let him."  
  
"I let him have his say," I interrupt, keeping my voice as calm and steady as possible.  
  
***  
  
"Which was?" I ask against my better judgment. Angry doesn't even begin to cover what I'm feeling about Toby right now. If I broke out Roget's I'm sure I could come up with an appropriate word: irate, wrathful, pissed off, perturbed, vexed - all good options, yet not quite powerful enough.  
  
"Donna, could you do me a favor first?" Josh asks, his voice rather squeaky. I look at him questioningly. "Let go of my arm?"  
  
I do, noticing I had clenched it so hard there are marks. Josh shakes it out, careful to not disturb David, who's still gnawing away on his other shoulder.  
  
"Sorry," I blush, running my thumb over the bruises.  
  
"It's okay. Anyway. Toby. You remember the rumors during the transition in '98? About how he and Congresswoman Wyatt were trying to have a baby to save their marriage?"  
  
"Yeah. I also remember CJ claiming it was a load of hooey. I remember because you mocked her for using the word hooey. I think it was Sam who said there was no way in hell it could be true because no man who was getting laid with any regularity could be that grouchy all the time." I can't help but smile at the memory. Those were good, fun days. We were all young and naïve back then. Now, we're older and wiser - theoretically speaking.  
  
"Sam was right," Josh continues, absently rubbing David's back. "Toby wasn't getting any."  
  
"What do you mean?" I'm confused. And irate. Which equals frustration.  
  
Josh can do the math as well and scrambles to finish his explanation of Toby's explanation before my temper boils over. "They were. You know. Working with a fertility clinic."  
  
"A fertility clinic?" I don't believe it.  
  
"I don't think they ever practiced enough to get it right." Josh comments. We put a lot of stock in practicing before actually attempting to get pregnant. It worked well for us. "Anyway, Andrea called him last week and told him she was going to try again before it was too late."  
  
"Doesn't Toby have to give his permission for that or something?" I ask, wondering how Congresswoman Wyatt was planning to pull this off.  
  
"She got the frozen, you know, in the divorce."  
  
"Ah."  
  
***  
  
It's not lost on me that Donna and I had the exact same reaction to the situation.  
  
"So that gives him the right to be an asshole to us?"  
  
Except Donna's a tad less understanding. Can't say I didn't call that one.  
  
"No. It doesn't," I answer, exercising my still developing diplomatic skills. "But we can try to be a little understanding, can't we?"  
  
"Do not take that tone of voice with me, Joshua Lyman, or you'll find yourself sleeping on the couch tonight," she snaps back. "I am not a political adversary to be handled."  
  
"I'm not trying to handle you, so you can give up the Abbey Bartlet routine," I retort, silently cursing Toby for wrecking havoc in my marriage. "I'm going to put David to bed."  
  
This is going to be one of those arguments and I'm not going to have it with David in the room. Even if he is just a baby, I don't want him to ever remember his parents fought in front of him.  
  
I'm also steaming mad and need to collect myself before I say something to Donna I'll regret. She's upset with Toby and has every right to be. I shouldn't expect anything else from her.  
  
David grabs onto his toy bear and stuffs its arm in his mouth as soon as I lay him down.  
  
"Is that tasty?" I ask, pulling my own drool covered t-shirt off and tossing it in the laundry basket. "Daddy's going to go back and get yelled at by Mommy now. Okay, Bear?"  
  
He just stares up at me and keeps gumming the toy bear.  
  
***  
  
The floorboards creak under Josh's feet as he pads back into the living room and sits next to me. I shouldn't have snapped at him. I know how he feels about Toby. I'm kind of glad he walked away for a minute. I needed to gather my thoughts.  
  
"I'm not trying to handle you," Josh repeats, taking my hand and rubbing his thumb over it.  
  
"I know," I sigh, concentrating on the image of his hand on mine. It's his left hand. The one I slipped a platinum ring on not so long ago. The satin finish shines dully in the softly lit room. "I'm just so angry."  
  
"I don't blame you and I'm not trying to justify what Toby said, babe," he's almost pleading with me. "I told him he had to apologize to you on his own. I only told him I'd talk to you about the, you know, Congresswoman Wyatt trying to get pregnant thing."  
  
Looking up from our hands, I see he's discarded his t-shirt. There are faint red marks on his shoulder from where David was chewing on him. My eyes travel downward to the scars from the shooting. I've always considered them to be faint shadows of what they once were, but I realize my perception is relative. The largest surgical one is eight inches long and two inches wide. A second one bisects it at a ninety-degree angle and is five inches long by two inches wide. They're no longer the red and purple or even white they were during his recovery. They've faded to the same color as the rest of his flesh. I see them every day and take them for granted. I shouldn't.  
  
Since Josh woke up in the recovery room, those scars have been permanent examples of his strength of spirit and survival. They seem to speak to me tonight, reminding me that without Toby realizing something was wrong, Josh would have died in Rosslyn. He would have bled to death, alone on that cold concrete landing.  
  
I reach out to touch them, to feel the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart. Josh covers my hand with his again, pressing it to his chest.  
  
"We owe him," Josh whispers, reducing the situation to that simple fact. "We owe him my life."  
  
"I know, Josh, but it doesn't give him the right. He's abusing your feeling indebtedness." I rub my thumb over the scar from the bullet.  
  
"I can't tell him that." Josh tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear.  
  
"I know." I close the remaining distance between us and climb into his lap. "I'll tell him."  
  
My anger has dissipated, leaving behind its unspent energy.  
  
"Did that qualify as a fight?" He nuzzles his cheek against my hair.  
  
"For what purpose?" I purr, running the palm of my hand over his muscular arms.  
  
Josh snakes a hand under my sweater, caressing my stomach. "Make-up sex?"  
  
"I think it can qualify as a fight for make-up sex purposes, yeah." I turn my face to his and kiss him.  
  
***  
  
"Have you noticed we never have sex in bed anymore?" I ask, after Donna's stretched herself over me like a blanket.  
  
"We had sex in bed before Halloween. We had sex in bed the night before Halloween. You just think we never have sex in bed because you always fall asleep right afterward when we have sex in bed," she yawns, her fingers toying with my hair.  
  
"I do not," I protest weakly.  
  
"You do, too. You know how I know?" she teases. "I know because I'm the one kept up by the nocturnal activities of your cub."  
  
"My cub?" I repeat incredulously, laughing at her long-running declaration that any misbehavior automatically makes the kid mine alone. "How come it's always my cub when it's keeping you awake at night and David is my son when he's crying or sick? When is it your cub and when is he your son?"  
  
Donna grabs my wrists to keep me from tickling her and kisses the tip of my nose. "David is my son when people are ooing and ahhing over him and it's my cub when I don't have the overwhelming urge to pee. Like I do right now."  
  
She promptly hops up and hustles to our bathroom. I gather up our discarded clothing, wondering how old my kids have to be before I have to stop wandering around the apartment naked.  
  
"Toby wanted to know if the gang could come over tomorrow and watch the football game," I call from the closet where the clothes hamper is.  
  
"They have to bring the food," Donna hollers back. "And Toby has to subject himself to getting yelled at by me."  
  
"I told him I'd call him in the morning, but I think he'll agree to those conditions. Are you going to do index cards for your smack down?" I crawl into bed next to her, ducking my head under the covers for my nightly conversation with the cub.  
  
"I just might," she giggles a little bit when I kiss her belly button.  
  
"Hey, little cub," I murmur.  
  
"I want you to know this behavior continues to disturb me," Donna yawns.  
  
"This is perfectly normal behavior according to that book Dr. Williams sent me back in February," I inform her.  
  
"I think I found a mid-wife, by the way. There's a woman who works with Dr. Williams."  
  
"See, little cub, Mommy found someone to bring you into this world a little more qualified than Daddy. Don't worry, though, Daddy'll be right there for you. And your brother David can't wait to have someone to play with. You get on with your growing, okay?" I feel a faint kick for the first time in response to my admonition to keep growing.  
  
I pull my head out from under the covers and smirk at my wife. "See, the cub listens to me. You ought to try this, Donna. It's a cool bonding experience."  
  
"Josh, honey? I talk to the baby a lot and I get to feel every single kick," she reminds me.  
  
***  
  
The cub has a future in the martial arts, I decide around four o'clock in the morning when I can't take it anymore and extricate myself from Josh's arms to get out of bed.  
  
"You didn't move nearly this much," I tell David. He was awake when I went to check on him, so I picked him up and sat in the rocking chair.  
  
He immediately starts gumming my robe. I think he's starting to teethe, judging by the sheer volume of drool he produces these days. Five months is a little early according to one of the books I got as a shower gift and the charts in the pediatrician's office, considering David was premature. I'm not looking forward to teething - I think potty training will be better than teething. Maybe I can dump teething off on Josh in exchange for potty training? Except Josh knows how guys pee. I'm not sure I want to teach a toddler how to hold his little Spongebob and aim and all that, although I'm pretty sure toddlers all learn to pee sitting down. Maybe I should stop thinking about potty training at four o'clock in the morning when my oldest is only five months old and hasn't actually started to even teethe yet.  
  
"Do you want to watch football with Daddy tomorrow?" I ask, rocking slowly to calm the cub and talking to keep David occupied.  
  
David lights up when I mention Daddy, giving me the wide, dimpled grin he usually reserves only for Josh. "You love Daddy a lot, don't you? But you love Mommy, too, don't you? Because Mommy sure does love you."  
  
He gurgles when I say Mommy. I wonder what he and Josh talk about during father-son time in the mornings. It can't be all politics. I wonder if Josh takes the time to tell him how much his Mommy loves him the way I tell him how much his Daddy does.  
  
"Is everything okay?" Josh's low voice floats across the room. David automatically turns his head toward it, even though his eyes are closed. Josh crosses the room and sits on the floor beside the rocking chair.  
  
"Your cub was keeping me up and I came in to check on David and he was awake, too. We were just talking about you."  
  
Josh chuckles when I refer to the baby as his cub again.  
  
"I asked him if he wanted to watch football with you tomorrow and he gave me dimples." I reach down and ruffle Josh's hair.  
  
"Every man gets excited at the prospect of football, babe," Josh yawns. "You wanna come back to bed?"  
  
"If you promise I'll be able to sleep," I agree, struggling to get out of the chair without disturbing David, who has nodded off again.  
  
***  
  
When I call him first thing in the morning, Toby agreed he, Sam and CJ would bring the food and beer, but he balked at having to face Donna.  
  
"You can come over early and get it over with today or she'll hunt you down in the Communications Bullpen and call you out in front of the entire staff," I advised him.  
  
The prospect of which is the reason he's standing at our door just before noon with his hat in one hand, so to speak, and a case of beer in his other.  
  
"Do you ever wear clothes at home?" he asks, surveying my half-dressed appearance with raised eyebrows. All I have on is a pair of ratty sweatpants.  
  
"It's lunchtime." I lead him back to the kitchen where David, wearing only his diaper, is propped up in his high chair with bananas smeared all over his face.  
  
Solid foods are still not going well.  
  
"You can put the beer in the fridge," I say, sitting back down in front of David. I dip the plastic coated spoon in the jar of baby food and try again. I succeed in getting the spoon in his mouth, but he spits the food back out.  
  
"Bear, you're supposed to swallow it, not do that," I plead.  
  
"Mababababababa!" he screams back, effectively telling me where to shove the damn spoon.  
  
"Are you having any. Ah, Toby Ziegler." Donna enters the kitchen from our bedroom and her eyes narrow at the sight of Toby. "Come with me."  
  
I give him a cheeky grin and wave as he follows Donna down the hall into the nursery.  
  
"Mommy's going to take a piece out of Uncle Toby's ass, Bear," I tell David, shoving more bananas into his mouth. This time he gums the mushed fruit and actually swallows. "Good boy!"  
  
***  
  
"I, um, want to apologize for my comments on Friday night," Toby begins as soon as I close the door to the nursery.  
  
I lean back against it, cross my arms over my chest and wait for him to continue.  
  
"I was out of line and what I said was uncalled for and. I was unnecessarily cruel," he finishes, having recited his entire spiel to the floor.  
  
I let the silence stretch out uncomfortably, pursing my lips and fine- tuning my verbal counter-attack while Toby squirms.  
  
"You know, Josh will forgive you for almost anything," I say, stealing a page from my husband's new diplomatic playbook and beginning calmly.  
  
Toby looks up at me in askance. "What?"  
  
"He is of the opinion that if you hadn't found him at Rosslyn, he would have bled to death," I explain, shocked to see that Toby doesn't begin to comprehend Josh's sense of indebtedness.  
  
"Oh." Toby strokes his beard, considering this tidbit of information.  
  
"To some extent, I feel the same way. Except I have this line. Cross the line and I will no longer tolerate your bullshit. And the line, Toby? The line is way the hell back there." I gesture over my shoulder.  
  
"Donna." he tries to interrupt.  
  
"Josh already pled your case, Toby. It's the only reason you were allowed to step foot inside my home. Be grateful Josh took pity on you."  
  
I can see him sucking on his lower lip as he considers what I'm saying.  
  
"Just in case you've missed it, family means a great deal to Josh and I. We both tend to get bent out of shape when someone attacks our loved ones, especially our children. I'm going to let this slide, Toby, because I don't want to put Josh in the position of having to choose between his wife and the man who saved his life. I am going to leave you with this thought, though. Who do you think he'd pick and what would your life be like with Josh Lyman as your enemy?" I pause until he looks up and nods his understanding. "Have fun this afternoon, but I want you out of here once the game is over. If you're still here when I get back, all bets are off."  
  
Bonnie, Margaret, Ginger and I made arrangements to spend the day shopping while Josh entertains the Senior Staff. Josh was a bit disappointed I couldn't see clear to forgive Toby completely, but he said he understood.  
  
I give Toby one last glare and then return to the kitchen. Josh is holding David on his lap, still trying to get him to eat the damn bananas. I'm starting to think the kid just doesn't like bananas. Maybe rice cereal or something would be better.  
  
"I'm going," I say to Josh, grabbing my purse from the coat tree by the door.  
  
"Have a good time," he says, having followed me to the door.  
  
"I will," I chuckle at the sight of my half-naked husband holding my mostly naked, banana-covered son. "There's a couple of bottles of breast milk in the fridge."  
  
"I already got one out. Go. We'll be fine. We're men watching football," Josh shoos me out the door with a kiss. My heart melts when he takes David's arm and waves at me. "Have fun, Mommy!"  
  
***  
  
Toby is standing awkwardly in the kitchen when I return from seeing Donna out the door. The bottle I pulled out of the fridge is still cold, so I stick it in the microwave for a few seconds to warm it up.  
  
"She chewed your ass pretty good, didn't she?" I shake my head at him. "Here, hold David for a second."  
  
I shove my son into Toby's arms so I can test the temperature of the bottle. It's a bit too warm now, of course. I take the opportunity to head into the bedroom and get dressed.  
  
Toby is holding David at eye level when I come back into the kitchen. David is staring back at him curiously. I watch in amusement as David reaches a little hand out and grabs Toby's nose.  
  
"Got him all figured out there?" I ask.  
  
"He's an infant," Toby replies handing David back to me. "What is there to figure out?"  
  
"I wasn't talking to you," I retort.  
  
We adjourn to the living room to watch TV and wait for Sam, CJ, Charlie and Leo to show up. David takes his bottle without fuss. I can't help but grin when he tries to hold it himself, with little success.  
  
"I didn't mean to run Donna off," Toby says out of the blue, his eyes fixed on the Redskins pre-game show.  
  
"Yeah, well, she's pretty pissed at you."  
  
"She said the reason you forgave me is because of Rosslyn."  
  
David's wide brown eyes stare up at me while I decide how to respond to Toby's comment. We've never talked about Rosslyn directly. We talked about a few things obliquely - like my suing the Klan - but we never addressed his finding me. Toby isn't normally a 'talk about your feelings' kind of guy.  
  
I settle for being obtuse. "Not directly."  
  
The doorbell saves me from having to discuss it any further. I get off the sofa and open the door to find the rest of the Staff. Leo is at the front of the pack, looking concerned.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"She let him live." I step aside and let them pour into the apartment.  
  
"Thank God," CJ whoops, bee-lining it for the kitchen and the beer.  
  
***  
  
I keep stealing glances at Josh throughout the game. He's having quite the time, watching the game with his son - explaining all the details and nuances of Steve Spurrier's run and gun offense - even though the boy is only five months old. Leo is sitting next to him, chiming in with the occasional comment about the job that Bill Parcells has done in reviving the Dallas Cowboys this season. David cries whenever Leo talks about the Tuna. I'm not sure, but I think there's some kind of genetic thing there, involving Josh's irrational support of the New England Patriots and Bill Parcells' four-year tenure there.  
  
The feeling burning inside me can only be jealousy. I doubt I'll ever sit around watching a football game with my son and my dad. And not only because my dad is a convicted felon and I haven't had any direct contact with him in years. I don't even have someone like Leo to fill my dad's role in my life. Josh, however, has Leo and the President. I wonder if he knows how lucky he really is.  
  
He probably does. Josh's family suffered as much or more than mine did during the War and his personal losses are greater than mine, really. His father and sister are both gone. At least, I still have my siblings. My isolation, I realize, is mostly of my own doing. Something CJ has been trying to tell me for years.  
  
"Where did Donna go this afternoon?" CJ asks when the half-time show starts, helping herself to some more of the buffalo wings Charlie brought from Hooters.  
  
"She and the Senior Assistant Brigade went shopping. She needs some clothes for winter," Josh says.  
  
"You let your wife go shopping with three other women?" Sam asks, proving he's drunk and will have to be driven home.  
  
"I don't let my wife do anything," Josh scoffs, earning a glare from CJ. "Donna and I discuss things like adults and when she says she wants to go shopping on Sunday, I say have a good time, dear."  
  
Leo laughs so hard, I think he's going to fall off the sofa.  
  
"So," Sam leans forward and presses on with his attempt to do whatever it is he's trying to do. "You're saying you're whipped?"  
  
I'm pretty sure CJ just snorted from attempting to not laugh. I'm actually interested to hear what Josh has to say to Sam, because I've heard the same comment made up on the Hill - mostly by single guys or guys who are on their third or fourth trophy wife.  
  
Josh raises his eyebrows and looks around at all of us. "As the only happily married guy here, I suggest you all stop mocking and start taking notes."  
  
"Oh wise master, pray tell us, what is the secret to happiness in marriage?" CJ doesn't give up the mocking.  
  
"The secret to happiness in marriage, Claudia Jean, is getting your spouse." Josh moves David from his lap to his shoulder and leans back, preparing to pontificate on the subject at length.  
  
"Getting your spouse?" Sam looks confused.  
  
"Yeah. You need to understand them. Know how they're going to react to things, what they like, what they don't like," he pauses. "You have to understand the reasons why they are the way they are. You also have to accept you can't change who your spouse is and you shouldn't try."  
  
Leo nods in agreement, which tells me Josh really does know what he's talking about. An important fact I file away for later.  
  
Josh looks around at all of us, taking a sip from his beer. "It's the reason Toby lived through his altercation with Donna and got to stay for the game. She knew it was important to me."  
  
We sit quietly for a minute. Each of us pondering what Josh said when he opens his mouth again. "Great sex all the time helps, too."  
  
With that little pronouncement, Josh gets up and heads down the hallway. Charlie looks around at us, before following him.  
  
"Do you think he's right?" CJ asks when they've been gone for a few minutes.  
  
"About which part?" Leo's still laughing.  
  
"The getting your spouse part." I wonder if that's where Andi and I went so wrong. Neither of us was really interested sharing ourselves with the other.  
  
Leo sobers up a bit. "Yeah. Things with Jenny really went south when I stopped paying attention to what she needed. It's the hardest part, though. Remembering to not take your partner for granted."  
  
"I don't think I could ever do it. Subvert my individuality to someone else enough to make a marriage work." CJ shakes her head.  
  
"If you think of it like that, you're already done. If it's the right person, you aren't subverting yourself to anything. You feel freer around them if anything. They understand you and they know what makes you tick and the thoughts behind those seemingly careless comments other people take out of context," Leo picks up where Josh left off.  
  
***  
  
"Can I ask you something?" Charlie closes the nursery door.  
  
"You made a seriously stinky mess here, Bear." I wrinkle my nose at the shit in David's diaper. "What's up, Charlie?"  
  
"When did you know Donna was the one?"  
  
"Hand me those wipes under there will you?" I point toward the canister of baby wipes under the changing table. "Why?"  
  
"Zoey and I have been seeing each other for quite a while now." He hands over the wipes. "And she graduated from Georgetown and all this May and started on her graduate degree at GW and I was wondering."  
  
"There's no time limit or restraint on relationships, Charlie," I tell him, mopping the crap off David's butt. "Donna and I. We knew that we were meant for each other from the minute she came back after quitting. The two weeks she was gone were the most miserable of my life. We had to wait almost four years before we were ready, though. It wasn't about love it was about maturity and being ready for the commitment and sacrifice that comes with having a family."  
  
"Yeah," he sighs.  
  
"What's going on?" I probe a little, fastening the pins on David's diaper to buy some time.  
  
"She's, I don't know, infatuated, I guess, with the idea of getting married. A bunch of her friends got engaged this summer and some of the people she knew in high school are having babies. It's all she talks about." Charlie paces the length of the nursery to stare out the window.  
  
"How do you feel about it?" I'm pretty sure I know the answer to the question.  
  
"Scared shitless," he says, continuing to look out the window.  
  
I pick David up before he can start to cry. "When you think about your future, does it include Zoey?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well, The thing about being married is everything you do has an impact on another person. I wouldn't ever dream of having a get together like this today without talking it over with Donna first. Does that make sense?"  
  
"I think so and I don't know if I'm ready for it, yet." Charlie turns back from the window and faces me.  
  
"You want my honest advice?" I reach for the doorknob.  
  
"Yeah, I do. You seem to have women figured out."  
  
I can't help but laugh at his observation. "I have one woman figured out. As for you, if you don't think you're ready, then you're not. If you want Zoey to stick around until you are ready, then you two need to sit down and have an honest discussion about it. That's what Donna and I did, right after she came back to work for the campaign. We sat down and were very up front about our mutual attraction and the potential problems it would cause. We agreed we needed to wait until we were sure this was the real thing and we could handle the fall-out from it."  
  
"And then you waited four years?" Charlie gapes at me.  
  
"It took about the length of the campaign to realize it was the real thing, but yeah, it took almost four years for us to both be ready to handle the consequences." I nod.  
  
"And you think Zoey'll understand?"  
  
I open the door a smirk. "I highly doubt she'll understand. Very few of them are wired like Donna, Charlie. You better start thinking about biting the bullet if you want to keep Zoey in your life. At the very least, you need to talk to her about the situation."  
  
***  
  
"Did you have a good time?" I ask, surveying Sam, who's passed out on the couch.  
  
"Yeah, we did. You?" Josh comes out of the kitchen carrying a full trash bag.  
  
"I spent lots of money." I give him a kiss. "Is David asleep?"  
  
"Out like a light. I'm going to run the trash down since you're home and can watch them both," he says.  
  
I go check on David and drop off the bags of baby things I got this afternoon. Most of them are for David as he grows, I figure the stuff he's wearing now is gender neutral enough to use for a girl. I'm finding myself hoping this baby is a girl. It means we'll have to find a house, though. We'll need three bedrooms if we have a girl.  
  
We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I tell myself as I pull the tags off my purchases and put them in the hamper. Josh is back by the time I'm done putting stuff away. I find him in the kitchen, starting dinner.  
  
"Chicken okay?" he asks, giving me a kiss.  
  
"Sure." I lean against the counter, watching.  
  
"Charlie cornered me this afternoon," Josh offers. "Zoey's starting to drop hints about getting married."  
  
"Hints?" I raise my eyebrows. The gossip I'm hearing is something more akin to she's putting up billboards.  
  
"Some guys have to be whacked over the head," Josh shrugs.  
  
"What did you tell him?" I'm curious about how he handled this.  
  
"That he better get the lead out and figure out what he wants. Not all women are as patient and understanding as you."  
  
I snort. "Ass kisser."  
  
"Yep." he grins over at me.  
  
"If the President finds out you're encouraging Charlie to propose to Zoey, he'll string you up by your toes," I inform Josh, wiping the smirk off his face.  
  
"I'm not encouraging anybody to do anything," he protests.  
  
"I doubt President Bartlet will see it that way," I giggle. 


	37. The Dr Josh Show

"So, Josh..." President Bartlet begins once the Secretary of Agriculture has been escorted from the Oval Office.

"To be honest, sir, I don't think we'll be able to convince China to buy any additional wheat this year. I doubt their economy can handle it," I offer my opinion on the meeting we just finished.

I happen to agree with you, but that isn't what we're going to talk about," he replies, sitting at his desk to sign a couple of papers.

I hug my files to my chest, afraid of what he's got up his sleeve. "Sir?"

"Charlie says he wants to talk to me about something personal tonight. I presume it has to do with my youngest daughter. Do you have any ideas?"

Oh, great - a fishing expedition. I see three options here: tell him the truth, flat out lie, or do something I should have done from the beginning - refuse to get involved. 

Let's start with door number three, shall we?

"I have several ideas, sir. But if it's what I think it is, it's for Charlie to discuss with you."

"He's talked to you about it?" Bartlet's head snaps up, leveling me with a piercing gaze.

"Charlie and I talked about several things a couple of weeks ago. I don't feel comfortable playing the middle man." I answer, squirming at the thought of having to tell the President of the United States of America about the discussion Charlie and I had. My wife is probably right, I think I accidentally encouraged Charlie to propose to the First Daughter.

"Oh, God," President Bartlet groans. 

I'm spared from further interrogation by the arrival of the Labor Secretary.

***

"Hey, Donna! Is Josh around?" Zoey Bartlet sticks her head in my office.

"Nope. He's staffing your dad today. Is there anything I can help you with?" I ask, flicking my computer monitor off to give her my full attention.

Zoey purses her lips, thinking about it. In the end, she comes in, shyly closing the door.

"Sit down," I tell her. Her heightened state of nervousness is a good indication she wants to talk about Charlie. I decide to break the ice slowly, so I ask her about grad school. "How are classes going?"

"Good," she answers, taking a seat in my visitor's chair.

We look at each other awkwardly until Zoey stares down at her fingernails.

"How did you handle waiting so long for Josh to propose?" she finally blurts, saving me the trouble of bringing the subject up. "I mean, you knew he was the one, right? Didn't it make you crazy to wait?"

"Yes, I knew he was the one, but no, waiting didn't make me crazy," I shift in my chair in an effort to get comfortable. I wore the wrong pants today. "We got together when we were both ready. There's no point in being impatient over something you're not ready for. Trust me."

"But I am ready," Zoey insists.

"If you're pressuring Charlie to do something he isn't sure about, then you aren't ready. Marriage is about patience and compromise," I tell her.

She slumps down in the chair. "You sound like my mom. I feel like I'm on an episode of The Dr. Phil Show."

"Your mom and I and Dr. Phil are all married, Zoey. It gives us a different perspective. Let me ask you something. If Charlie came to you and said I love you, but I'm not ready to get married - what would you do?" 

"I don't know," she shrugs with a frown.

"When you can answer that question, you know you're ready." I give her a smile, trying to soften the disappointment. I can tell she'd rather have talked about this with Josh, but I can't, in good conscious, tell her to do something she isn't ready for.

And I doubt Josh would, either.

***

"Come with me, Charles." I grab him by the shoulder and steer him toward the Mess. The President is having 'barbeque' in the Residence with the First Lady for lunch today, giving me a good hour to talk some sense into my young friend.

We both grab some food and sequester ourselves in a corner.

"What the hell are you thinking?" I demand, fully cognizant of the fact my voice just jumped a few octaves.

He looks taken aback. "I'm thinking about what you told me a couple of weeks ago. About how Zoey might not wait much longer and I better get myself in gear."

"You do realize her father is the leader of the free world as well as our boss and a man who can have us both sent to Iceland for the rest of our lives, right?" I can't believe him. I said talk to her - not to her father!

"What do you mean us? I'm the one dating his daughter," Charlie growls.

"You know he's going to find out I may have inadvertently, and unintentionally suggested you get the lead out of your ass," I fire back. "I have a wife and a son and a baby on the way! I can't get sent to Iceland because you want to propose to the boss's daughter!"

"I just want to feel him out. I don't plan on proposing tomorrow or anything."

I glare at him over my burnt burger until he continues, sounding somewhat defeated.

"I don't know anything about being married, Josh. My dad didn't hang around. The only roommate I've ever had is Deanna and she did whatever I told her to do. I just know I love Zoey and I want to be with her. You and Donna are so happy... It makes me think I could... I want that, what you have. I want someone to look at me the way Donna looks at you," he finishes in a whisper.

"Everything isn't as rosy as it seems, Charlie. Donna and I have our share of fights and arguments and disagreements. Being married is a lot of work." I say, jabbing a somewhat limp french fry at him to emphasize the point.

"But you work your problems out. And so do the President and First Lady," he protests.

"What's your first instinct when you're upset about something?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"Does it eat you up inside if you can't tell Zoey about what's bothering you or do you feel like she won't understand?" Not that I have room to talk here some days.

He looks down at his sandwich.

"You don't talk to her about the stuff you're feeling, do you?" I guess, softening my attack.

Charlie shakes his head. 

"This once? You might want to. If you don't think you can, don't talk to the man tonight," I advise.

He nods and checks his watch. "We better get back. The 'barbecue' is almost over."

The two of us stand and head back to the Oval Office. I stop before we part ways at Charlie's desk - to leave him with some last words of wisdom. Something my dad told me a long time ago.

"It doesn't make you any less of a man to talk to her about your feelings."

***

"I think we're done for the day, Josh. You can head on home," the President says. We've just finished the last scheduled meeting and it's barely 9 o'clock.

"Are you sure, sir?" I ask. My days in the Oval Office normally last until 10 or 11.

"Yeah, I'm gonna head upstairs and talk to Charlie. If anything blows up, we'll call you back in."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Refusing to look a gift horse in the mouth, I head to my office to wrap things up for the day before going home.

Not surprisingly, Donna and our assistants are gone for the day. There's a note on my desk that I think says something about Matt Skinner and breakfast tomorrow. 

I spot Toby lurking around the bullpen while I'm trying to decipher the note. He's been doing this a lot the past couple of weeks, waiting until Donna isn't nearby and then trying to talk to me.

The problem is he takes fifteen minutes to work himself up to ask me absolutely nothing. Leading me to believe it's related to his ex-wife.

"What's up?" I ask, praying it's something to do with work. I've dispensed more than my share of relationship advice today.

"She's pregnant," he blurts with no preamble whatsoever.

"We're talking about Andrea Wyatt, right?" I gesture for him to follow me into my office.

"Right. Andi's pregnant. They're mine." Toby is chalk white, disbelief and fear making his eyes appear unnaturally wide.

"Sit," I order, taking command of the situation. "Start at the beginning."

Toby drops into a chair, right on top of the research papers about oil drilling in ANWR. 

"She called a while back to say she was starting the fertility treatments again and she'd keep me posted," he says, telling me the one thing I already know.

"And she called today?" I prompt when he stops.

He nods his head, looking as forlorn as I've ever seen him.

"The fertility thing worked?" I phrase the obvious as a question.

"Yeah. Twins," he chuckles nervously, staring at his hands.

"Okay," I lean back in my chair. "When's she due?"

"Due?" Toby's eyebrows meet in the center of his forehead.

"Yeah," I snicker. I can't help it. "When's her due date? You know, when she's done being pregnant and has the babies?"

"Like maybe in nine months!" He raises his voice, clearly frustrated by today's events.

Scrubbing my hands over my eyes, I'm starting to wonder if I should quit politics and get a job as a relationship counselor on TV. I could be Dr. Josh. My first patient - Toby Ziegler.

"What do you want out of this?"

"Huh?" Toby responds.

"In the end, given the situation - what do you want? Do you want to be a part of the kids' lives or not? Do you want Andi in your life?" I rephrase the question.

"I... I don't..." He falls silent and shakes his head, looking down at his hands again. "I don't know."

I toss my pen on the desk and stand up. This conversation is going nowhere and I have better things to do - like go home to _my_ wife and kid. "My suggestion would be to figure out what you want before you do anything else."

***

It's about 9:30 when I hear the click of the front door unlocking.

"Josh?" I call from the kitchen where I'm doing research on the Genetic Non-Discrimination in Health Insurance bill the Senate is considering after the Thanksgiving recess. David is lying on a blanket on the floor, amusing himself by rolling over.

"I'm home!" he yells back in his best Ralph Kramden impersonation.

David immediately starts screaming happily at the sound of Josh's voice. He squeals with delight when Daddy appears and scoops him up off the floor.

"Hey, Bear!" Josh holds David up at arm's length wiggling him playfully before lowering him to his shoulder and kissing his forehead. He then closes the distance between us and kisses me. His voice is positively sultry when he greets me. "Hey, Mommy."

"Hey," I reply with promising smile.

"Toby came to see me tonight," he says, sitting down across the table from me with David on his lap.

"Again?" I find myself strangely intrigued by the Toby Ziegler situation, despite my continued annoyance with the man. It's like watching a soap opera on daytime TV. Josh comes home almost every night with an update. The past week or so, it's just been Toby hemming and hawing without saying anything of substance.

"Apparently the fertility clinic was successful," Josh replies dryly.

"She's pregnant?" I giggle at the thought of Toby's ex-wife pregnant. In the three or four altercations I've had with Congresswoman Wyatt, I've always pegged her as the career-type. I could be wrong, though, and I'm pretty sure my observation makes me some kind of hypocrite and quite possibly a pseudo-Republican in the making. 

Having kids is doing weird things to my outlook on life.

"Toby's in quite the snit," Josh confirms. "He doesn't know whether he's coming or going. I told him he needs to figure out what he wants before he does anything."

"You mean about what I told you CJ said?"

Josh nods. "Among other things. The thing about CJ is she's safe. CJ's not asking him for anything he won't give. Andrea Wyatt? Totally different story."

"When I first met her, I wondered why on Earth they'd ever married to begin with," I admit.

"Different strokes for different folks, I guess," Josh shrugs, helping David stand up on the table. "I don't get it either, but he's still in love with her. Whatever constitutes being in love for Toby Ziegler."

"What do you think he'll do?"

"I don't have any idea," Josh shakes his head as he watches David bend his knees and then straighten his legs back out.

"Zoey came to see you today," I change the subject slightly.

"Why?" he asks curiously.

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Charlie." 

"Oh, no," Josh groans, not at all the response I expected from him.

"What?"

"I'm home early because Charlie wanted to talk to the President about something personal."

"You don't think he's planning to propose, do you?" The very thought of President Bartlet's reaction makes me fear for Charlie's personal safety. 

And Josh's career.

"I don't know," Josh answers. "I took him to lunch and tried to talk some sense into him, but... I don't think it did any good."

"Zoey got the same spiel from me," I tell him. "She wanted to know why I was giving her the same advice she's getting from her mother."

"And Elizabeth, I'd imagine." Josh moves David to his lap when the little boy won't hold himself up anymore.

"I didn't go there, but probably. She said she felt like she was trapped in an episode of Dr. Phil." I became quite the fan of Dr. Phil while I was on maternity leave.

Josh's eyes twinkle as he laughs so hard he almost falls off his chair.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking tonight that with all the people wandering through my office looking for advice, I ought to get my own talk show," he gasps.

"You and Dr. Phil, baby," I snicker.

"I was going to be Dr. Josh."

We dissolve into hysterics at our individual images of the disaster that would be Josh with his own talk show on national television. Although I'm sure his vision isn't the same type of disaster mine is. And I doubt David is giggling for any reason other than the fact Josh is.

"Matt wants to have breakfast tomorrow?" Josh asks when he finally stops laughing.

"6:30 at the regular place. He said it was important, but he couldn't be seen talking to you," I relay the message.

"Did he say what?" Josh sighs.

"All he said was Sam's count is off." I'm so wrapped up in my own work, I'm not even sure what Sam is pushing on the Hill these days.

From the way Josh's face tightens, he knows exactly what it is and he's not happy about it.

"What?" I ask, wondering what could ruin his mood so fast.

"HR 2038," he says simply.

"When's the vote?" I've really lost track of time.

"It should have been three months ago, but the Republicans didn't want it on the calendar in August. The vote is next week. Right before Thanksgiving recess."

Well, there goes our relaxing evening. Josh will be up all night fretting over this one.

***

"Does anybody have anything else?" Leo asks, wrapping up the morning staff meeting.

"I'm hearing rumblings about problems with 2038 in the House," I announce. Matt wasn't specific at breakfast, he just told me to recheck our base before we started planning a victory party for reauthorizing the ban on assault weapons.

"What?" Sam asks sharply.

"Nothing firm, no names, no specifics. It was just suggested we recount noses," I say.

"Who'd we lose?" Sam wonders aloud.

"I don't care," Leo growls. "Just fix it. Quietly. Anything else?"

After a general chorus of no's and the President's dismissal, everyone starts to filter out of the Oval Office.

"Josh," President Bartlet calls, stopping me in my tracks before I can escape. "We need to talk."

"Busted," CJ calls in a sing-song voice, clearly in high spirits despite the potential setback with the ban on assault rifles.

The President glares at me until the others have left the room. "Charlie came to me last night and I have reason to believe you were complicit in his decision to do so."

"Sir, I..." I'm not sure how to defend myself on this one.

"I think it'd be wisest for you to not speak until I'm finished," Bartlet interrupts my interruption.

"Yes, sir," I reply meekly.

"He started out by saying he had been giving a lot of thought to his relationship with my youngest daughter and he was feeling some pressure from her to take things to the next level."

I think you can hear me gulp over at the Capitol.

"He then proceeded to tell me that what he was going to say wasn't what he had planned to say, but he came to the conclusion yesterday he wasn't ready for the next level. He did, however, want my opinion on whether I thought Zoey would be amiable to not rocking the boat quite yet and how he might best approach the issue with her," Bartlet's voice softens as he finishes.

There is a God.

"I don't know what you said to dissuade him from asking me what we both think he was going to ask me, but thank you," Bartlet finishes.

"You're welcome, sir. Glad I could be of assistance." I can breathe again. 

"You got lucky." He tilts his head and looks at me knowingly.

"Yes, sir," I agree with a laugh of relief.

"Get out of here," he orders kindly.

"Yes, sir."

I'm almost out the door when he calls my name again. I stop and turn back to face him. His expression is significantly more serious and there's no question my luck has run out.

"Don't go off the reservation trying to help Sam. Let him handle 2038."

***

Josh isn't in bed when I wake up at 3 o'clock in the morning. 

I haven't seen him since lunch and he looked unusually troubled at the time. He didn't want to talk in the Mess and wasn't sure when he'd be home.

I pee and then check on David.

Absolute panic floods my veins when he isn't in his crib. I rush into the living room, convinced I'm going to find the front door wide open and the apartment pillaged.

No such luck.

"JOSHUA LYMAN! YOU SON OF A BITCH!" I scream furiously.

My husband sits bolt upright on the couch, nearly dropping David, who had been sleeping soundly against his chest.

"Good God! Donna!" His eyes are wide with terror and his breathing is ragged.

"You scared the shit out of me!" We chorus at each other.

David interrupts before we can really get going at each other. He wails loudly at being so rudely disturbed. My panic and accompanying anger are flushed away by his cries.

"Shh..." Josh immediately focuses on David. He gets up and starts pacing around the living room, trying to calm our son with no success.

"I went to check on him and he wasn't there," I explain my outburst, taking David from Josh and sitting down on the recently vacated couch. 

"I'm sorry. He was awake when I got home. We were sitting out here talking and I must have fallen asleep..." he trails off, sounding as miserable as he looks standing before me in his rumpled, drool-stained suit.

David quiets when I offer him my breast. His fussiness at feeding passed with the ear infection.

Josh collapses next to us. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay. I overreacted a little there myself," I acknowledge. "What's the matter, honey?"

He takes a breath and releases it before answering. "We're down 35 votes on 2038 in the House and 22 on the Senate version."

"The reauthorization bill?" I ask in disbelief.

Josh bites his lip, reaching out to stroke David's hair. "Yeah."

Please tell me he's not going to do what I think he's going to do.

"You aren't..."

"Would it be so bad?" he asks.

"Yes!" I screech harshly, mindful of the baby in my arms.

No part of whatever cock-eyed scheme he's cooking up can be good.

I take a deep breath and start over again. "Have you talked to Leo or the President about what you're thinking?"

The self-conscious way he bites his lower lip answers my question. Either he hasn't talked to them or somebody told him to keep out of it.

"That's what I thought. Gee, and to think, I was almost done being pissed at Toby. Now I have to be pissed at you." 

"Please, Donna," he pleads softly. "It has to come out eventually. I have to talk about it before I try to run for office. I can't get caught covering it up, not on top of the MS thing."

The expression on his face is one of a weary acceptance of the future. It tugs at my heart, tempering my urge to yank him back into line. Marriage is about compromise, I remind myself, thinking back to the conversation I had with Zoey yesterday. Compromise and patience. If Josh wants to expose himself and the Administration to another health-related scandal, I guess it's his business. Well, his and Leo's and the President's and Toby's and CJ's and... No, wait - it _is_ my business.

"Promise me you'll talk to Leo before you do anything stupid."

He concedes and rests his head on my shoulder, falling silent.

***

"Charlie chickened out," I tell her after a few minutes.

"Escaped by the skin of your teeth, didn't you?" Her voice has lost its edge.

"Yeah," I agree. 

"Let's go to bed," Donna suggests, intuitively knowing what I need the most - sleep and a fresh perspective in the morning.

I get up and take David from her. He whimpers a bit at the loss of her breast, but he was only suckling for comfort and is more asleep than awake. I put him on his back and lean down to kiss him good night.

"I love you, Bear," I whisper, smiling indulgently as he yawns and falls deeper into sleep.

Donna is already in bed when I enter our room. She watches while I undress, not bothering to nag when I leave my clothes in a pile on the floor. She just opens her arms for me when I crawl into bed. I curl up in her embrace, grateful for her love and understanding. 

The last thought I have before drifting off to sleep is to wonder how I ever made it through life before we met and how I got so lucky as to have her love me.

***

Josh is in an all day session with the economic advisory committee today and there's another one on his schedule tomorrow. They're debating the need for a stimulus package. Meanwhile, Sam is up on the Hill trying to get back some votes on the gun control bill. I see these two events as gifts from the scheduling gods which allow me to execute Operation Let Toby Off the Hook. Bonnie and Ginger are my willing co-conspirators, taking off on an extended lunch to give me ample time alone with our Communications Director.

When the coast is clear, I saunter into Toby's office as though I own it. Startled by the sound of the door closing, Toby looks up from his laptop. 

"What?" he demands, though he's not as surly as he would be normally.

"How would you like to get out of my doghouse?" I ask.

He eyes me suspiciously. "How?"

"Help Sam get the votes on 2038."

"Donna, they aren't going to ask Josh to..." he tries to placate me.

"No, but that doesn't mean he won't go off half-cocked and make things worse!" I retort angrily. The shooting and its aftermath were the worst six months of my life. I have no desire to deal with the fallout of Josh announcing to the world he suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

"I'll figure something out," Toby assures me.

He knows as well as I do that neither Josh personally nor the Administration as a whole can withstand the impact of wall-to-wall political coverage insinuating one of the President's most trusted senior advisors is mentally unstable.

***

I hate economics. I hate unemployment numbers. I hate the Dow. I have no understanding of people who find joy and contentment in deciphering the inner workings of the business cycle. I hate spending 15 hours talking about the economy with people who think the study of economics is interesting.

After a night of little sleep and a day of discussing ways around the looming recession, I am exhausted and frustrated and facing three more hours in the office catching up on all the reports I need to review before tomorrow's sessions.

I've read the same paragraph six times and I still don't know what it says. All I can think about is how to get back the votes on 2038. Would it really be such a thing if I went out and said 'hey - this is what happens when you survive getting shot by one of these weapons. Do you really want your son or daughter to go through this?'

Nobody needs these types of guns. Hunting elk with an AR-15 isn't sport, no matter how the NRA and Charlton Heston try to justify it. These weapons are military in nature and they have one purpose - killing people. Killing people is against the law.

"What the hell did you say to Charlie!?"

Speaking of killing people... Murderous is the only way to describe Zoey as she storms into my office.

And I'd like just one day of not having to play Dr. Josh, I swear to God.

"I told him the exact same thing my wife told you," I snap. I'm in no mood to do this right now. "You two aren't done growing up yet, let alone ready to get married."

"Since when does your opinion matter?" Zoey demands.

"Since you started coming to me for it," I growl.

"Obviously that was a mistake! What makes you think we're not ready to get married?"

I sigh in frustration, praying my kids don't turn out to be this dense. "The fact you're in here, blaming me for a situation you created, instead of taking responsibility for it yourself. When is the last time you and Charlie talked about your future and actually listened to each other?"

Zoey looks down and bites her lip, not saying a word. Time for a little tough love, I think.

"Get out of my office. I'm tired of being used as an excuse for the state of your relationship with Charlie. You two broke it, you two need to figure out how to fix it." It doesn't take much effort for me to sound angry.

Her shoulders slump even further and she leaves my office dejectedly. 

I scowl down at my report and read the same paragraph for the seventh time.

***

There's no point in waiting up for Josh tonight. The economic meeting was still going strong when I left at 7 o'clock and he still had to prep for tomorrow.

So, I'm slightly surprised when he joins me in bed just after midnight.

"You're home early," I murmur, rolling onto my side with enough difficulty to tell me sleeping on my side is about to be a thing of the past. I take advantage of it while I can, though, and snuggle up against Josh's warmth.

"I wasn't getting anything accomplished," he says, running his hand up and down my bare back.

"What happened?" I shiver under his touch.

"Zoey's pissed off. Charlie finally took my advice and talked to her." His talented fingers trace the stretch marks on my hips.

"Let's not talk about Zoey and Charlie," I suggest, leaning in and pulling his earlobe into my mouth.

"Works for me," Josh replies. His mouth immediately finds my neck and I can feel from amount of pressure he's exerting I'm going to have a very visible mark in the morning.

"Josh?" I mumble around his ear.

"Hmmm?" He's moved on to another, equally visible, part of my neck.

"I have a meeting with an group of conservatives from Oklahoma about the Pledge of Allegiance."

"Wear a turtleneck," he suggests, moving up to my jaw.

"Except, I don't have any turtlenecks that fit anymore," I point out, letting my fingers stray to the spot behind his ear.

He stills instantly, his mouth going slack against my skin.

"Donna..." he grinds out, pressing his hips against mine, letting me feel the heat radiating from Spongebob.

"No more hickeys," I admonish, finding a highly visible spot on his jaw and returning the favor without regard for my own pronouncement.

"You're evil," he laughs when I finish. His thumb tenderly grazes my cheekbone while he draws his other hand through my hair.

"You love me for it," I whisper, kissing the tip of his nose.

"I love you for a lot of things," Josh replies with a sudden hitch in his voice. In the span of thirty seconds, he's gone from playful to subdued.

"I love you, too," I tell him, wondering what prompted his mood shift.

"Make love to me?" he pleads, his hand now running over my hip and down my thigh.

Josh reaches for my hands, causing me to look down at him. His eyes are clenched shut and tears are leaking down his face. I'm still not sure what's behind this, but he asked me to make love to him, so I do. Slowly, I lift up and settle back down, moving methodically until Josh joins me. His tears don't stop, but he releases his vise-like grip reaching up to massage the growing bulge of my stomach.

"Stop," he whispers, holding my hips still. "I can't..."

I nod and slide off of him. Despite his desire to make love to me, he can't. Josh waits until I get comfortable before he wraps his body around mine, clinging to me as though I'm a rock in the storm only he's enduring. The moisture of his tears is cool on his skin.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask, gently caressing his coarse hair. The reddish highlights seem especially noticeable tonight.

He snorts, chuckling in spite of himself.

"What?" I temper my demand with a smile he doesn't see.

"When Charlie and I talked the other day, one of the things I told him was he had to be open and honest with Zoey and not be afraid to tell her what he was feeling in his heart. I've been feeling like a hypocrite all day, but I haven't been able to find the words," Josh explains. He's stopping holding me so tightly and resumed massaging my stomach. "I want this bill to pass so badly, Donna. I don't want anyone else going through what we did, you know? Nobody should have to suffer like that."

"I know, honey." I cover his hand with mine, stilling it when the cub kicks against the pressure. Josh looks up at me through his tears. "But this isn't the right time. What you want to do, it can't be reactive. Announcing you suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder is a huge deal and if it's done right, it can have the kind of impact I think you're looking for. Coming out and browbeating Congress with it right now just makes you look shrill and desperate. Shrill, desperate and mentally unstable."

I stop because he knows I'm right. I can feel it in the way he snuggles his head into the crook of my shoulder and sighs deeply.

"What did I ever do to deserve you in my life?" Josh mumbles softly. He hasn't slept much the last few nights and it's caught up with him.

I don't answer with words, I just squeeze his hand to let him know I'm here for him.

***

"Mr. McGarry wants to see you," Chris pipes up the instant I return to the Operations bullpen from my afternoon meeting. When his announcement doesn't stop me from heading directly into my office, he follows with his message pad in hand. "Mr. Lyman? He said it was important."

The kid's been here over six months, you'd think he could stop calling me Mr. Lyman.

"I heard you," I snap, well aware I'm taking my frustrations out on my assistant. Donna's not in her office or she'd ream my ass for doing it. I've been tossing around what she said to me last night and come to the conclusion she's right - now isn't the time, regardless of my future political aspirations. Losing the vote on something so personally important still stings, though, and my impotence in the outcome is infuriating.

I set most of my files down, keeping only my notes on the economic meeting - which is probably what Leo wants to talk to me about.

Margaret passes me into his office without a word.

"We can expect unemployment to continue to..." I launch my recap of the meeting I spent six hours in today, but Leo interrupts me.

"Have a seat," he says. The way he's clipping his words has me mentally reviewing what I've done the past couple of days.

"What's going on?" 

"Leave 2038 alone. I don't want you making phone calls to lobby Congress. I don't want you talking to reporters. I want you to keep your mouth shut and your opinions to yourself. We have a deal, Josh. As much for your benefit as for the Administration's."

I knew 'the deal' would come up eventually. The deal where I have nothing to do with gun control legislation. Leo's right - it's not an altruistic bargain on the Administration's part. The nondisclosure of my diagnosis is a murky gray area - despite the White House Counsel's assurances we didn't need to hold a press conference the day after my sessions with Stanley. 

Everyone who knows about it knows I haven't had an episode since Christmas 2000, but that doesn't mean people who don't like me, personally, or the Administration wouldn't use it against us. Donna's right - the wrong kind of exposure isn't just the end of my career; it's a scandal for the Administration. 

"Josh?" Leo prompts.

"Why can't we make it personal?" I ask. I'm more interested to hear how his reasoning compares to Donna's than actually arguing the point.

"Do you seriously want to open yourself up to the kind of scrutiny we're talking about here? Do you even begin to comprehend the level of questioning you'll open yourself, not to mention Donna, up to?"

"I have to eventually. Better sooner than later," I shrug.

"What do you mean you have to eventually?"

"If I run for office in '06, I'm going to have to disclose the PTSD. I can't conceal a condition like that. It has to be out there before I announce," I lean forward, reminding him of my intention to pursue a Senate seat. I can't have this hanging over my campaign. I'll face enough problems as a perceived carpetbagger.

Leo leans back in his chair and sighs heavily. "I'll make you a deal. You stay out of this fight and I promise to get it out there before the '06 campaign season. We're running a little short on political capital at the moment. Getting what we wanted into the budget cost us a lot. I can't guarantee you the protection you'll need right now."

"Sam isn't going to get the votes," I state.

"No, probably not," he agrees.

"We'll have to wait until after the midterms to reintroduce it."

"Okay," Leo nods, seeing the roadmap I'm drawing. "We reintroduce it in the next Congress and put you on it."

***

The bounce is back in Josh's step when he returns to his office. Chris warned me my husband was in as pissy a mood today as he was yesterday, so I wonder what changed his tune.

I give him a few minutes to check his schedule and then rap on the doorframe separating our offices.

"Wanda Milhouse thinks women who wear makeup are trashy and cheap," I announce. "And the Reverend DeWayne Milhouse finds it abominable that a woman, let alone a pregnant woman, works as a policy advisor to the President."

"Were these people wearing shoes?" Josh leans back in his chair. One of these days the damn thing is going to break again.

"And comfortable ones at that," I kick off my shoes and plant myself on the desk, plopping my feet in his lap. "How was your meeting?"

"It's going to be a bagel," he sighs as he massages my feet.

"A bagel?" I cock an eyebrow at him.

"We can't say the word... you know, it's like jinxing it. And we have to call it something. Andrea from OMB wanted to call it a banana." He waits until I finish laughing. "We had to explain it to Larry."

"You're feeling better today," I broach the subject of his improved mood.

"I just came from Leo's office."

Thank God.

Josh continues when I look at him expectantly. "Announcing it now is not politically expedient."

"Isn't that what I told you last night?"

"Yeah, but you used the words shrill and mentally unstable," he grins, letting me know just who swayed his thinking. "Leo cut me a new deal. I continue to keep my head down now and when we reintroduce the ban after midterms, I make the case for it with my experiences. It puts the diagnosis out there if I decide to run for office after we leave the White House."

"You keep mentioning running for office." I poke him pointedly with my big toe. "Is there something we need to talk about?"

***

Oh shit.

"Um, yes?" I squeak.

"Josh, honey?" Donna raises her eyebrows and looks at me like a cat looks at a cornered mouse.

"Senator Marshall isn't running for re-election."

"Phil Marshall, 85-year-old Republican from Wisconsin whose seat is up in 2006?" she clarifies.

"Right."

"What does Phil Marshall's retirement have to do with you running for office after we're out of the White House?"

Like she doesn't know. In my own defense, she knew I wanted to run for something.

"I may have been in touch with the Wisconsin Democratic Party a few times over the past year," I admit.

"You may have been?" She nods obliquely toward my window while ratcheting up her volume.

I catch a glimpse of movement outside the half-open door.

'Zoey,' Donna mouths.

I return her smirk. This is our perfect opportunity to show her the rockier side of marriage.

"Okay!" I shout back, loving the way my wife's mind works. "I've talked to them on several occasions. They think I'm a viable candidate."

"When the hell were you planning to tell me about this? Before or after you were elected?" Donna runs her stocking-clad foot teasingly up my crotch.

Not the kindest thing to do to a man who was unable to achieve sexual satisfaction the night before. Spongebob responds instantly in response to her ministrations.

"I was going to talk to you about it after they got back to me! It's not a done deal!"

I never realized how hard it could be to argue with someone about nothing. Especially when the person you're arguing with is responsible for your hard-on.

"You're damn right it's not. You are not the only person in this marriage, Josh! I get some say!"

Her harsh words are mitigated by the fact she slid off the desk and replaced the foot she had in my crotch with her hand.

"I'm not denying you input. I wasn't trying to hide this from you..."

"You just hadn't gotten around to telling me, yet!?" 

I have no idea how she can sound so snotty and still undo my zipper.

"No! I mean, yes, I hadn't told you, yet because..." 

There is absolutely no way I can think right now.

"Because what? You don't value my opinion?"

"No! Donna!" I yelp, praying it sounds more like I'm trying to calm her down than what really happened. Which was a predictable biological response to her actions. 

"You know what, Josh? If you can't tell me the truth, you can just sleep on the damn couch tonight!"

From the way she just licked her upper lip that was less a threat and more an invitation.

"Fine!" I growl, wondering how the hell I'm going to get out of the office without anybody noticing the wet spot on my pants.

"Fine! I'm going to pick up David. Take your damn time coming home! Call Wisconsin three or four times! See if I care!" Donna snarls back, stomping off to her office, slamming the door in dramatic fashion.

I don't even have time to zip my pants up before there's a knock on my door. I hastily scoot closer to the desk to hide the evidence of what Donna and I were actually doing.

"Josh? Is everything okay?" Zoey asks timidly.

I shrug and run my hand through my hair, leaving it standing on end. "Yeah, it's... Just one of those things."

"Donna sounds really upset." She glances at the door connecting our offices with wide-eyed trepidation.

"She'll get over it," I reply, loud enough for Donna to hear.

"But..." 

"But, what?" I can't believe I'm sitting here talking to the First Daughter with my pants undone and my dick hanging out. No wonder Leo didn't want us having sex in the West Wing. It's quite the trick for me to get everything tucked back where it belongs while I'm talking to the kid.

"You two seem like you're so in love," she protests somewhat lamely.

"We are in love, Zoey. But this is what I've been trying to tell you - people who are in love still hurt each other. I understand she's upset and blowing off steam. We'll talk about this like rational human beings when I get home."

After we spend some quality time with the sofa and maybe the coffee table. The thought of which has Spongebob stirring again.

"When Charlie and I fight, we end up not speaking for days," Zoey admits.

"Your situation is a lot different," I point out. "Donna and I can't escape each other so easily. We go home and whatever the problem is, it's still there. There's no escaping it, we have to deal with it. Plus we have David to think about. Marriage is a 24/7/365 arrangement. The good days and the bad ones. You both have to be able to handle it."

"And Charlie isn't ready, yet," she finishes.

"Be honest with yourself, kiddo. You aren't either."

She looks pretty teary, but she nods in agreement. "How do I know?"

I think back to a rainy April night outside a two-bit New Hampshire motel in 1998. The night Donna came back to me and I told her about the way she made my heart sing a song I'd never heard before and she told me about the flutter I caused in her stomach. I remember an unseasonably warm December night three and a half years later when I realized I knew all the words to the song in my heart and discovered Donna knew them, too.

"For me, it was coming to the conclusion that I could live without everything else in my life as long as Donna was with me. There was nothing I wanted to do more than marry her and start a family."

"There's a lot of stuff I still want to do..."

"Zoey, kiddo, there's still stuff I want to do too, but it all revolves around Donna," I interrupt.

"Even running for office?" She sort of smirks, making me wonder if we were as convincing as I thought we were.

"Especially running for office."

We sit in the quiet for a few minutes, I can hear Donna bidding the assistants good night as she heads over to the daycare to pick up David.

"I'm afraid I'm never going to find it," Zoey says out of the blue.

I shake my head at her. "What are you? 22? 23? I was 36 when I met Donna and 41 when we got married. It took me longer to find my soul mate than The Real Thing. It'll happen when you stop trying so hard."

"Donna was my age."

"Donna was running away from a jackass who used her to get through med school. Stop trying so hard, kiddo. Keep your eyes and your mind open, but let it happen on its own," I advise.

She nods. "I'll try."

"No. Try not. Do. Or do not," I intone, summoning the timeless Yoda adage. "There is no try. Now get out of my office so I can go home."

"In that big a hurry to get yelled at?" Zoey snickers.

"You know what comes after the arguing?" I decide to impart one last bit of marital wisdom.

She stops in the doorway. "What?"

"Make-up sex."


	38. Revenge of the Pink Fluff

_Sunday, November 23, 2003._

"Is everything set for Thursday?" Donna calls from the nursery where she's folding laundry.

It's a quiet Sunday at home, just the three of us. In the division of household responsibilities, the situation translates into: I made breakfast and am on baby-duty while Donna fusses around the apartment in her weekly attempt to act domestic. Hey, it makes her feel better, so I don't argue.

Baby-duty right now involves blowing raspberries on David's tummy - an activity which amuses him to no end. We were reading the Cat in the Hat - a far more educational pursuit I'm sure Donna would prefer - but David kept trying to eat the book.

"Why?" I holler back before taking a deep breath and making my son giggle by blowing air against the ticklish skin of his stomach.

"Because Thanksgiving is Thursday." The proximity of Donna's voice tells me she's now standing over me.

I roll onto my back and lift David up to sit on my chest.

"Hi, Mommy!" I take his arm and wave it at her, something which rarely fails to make her smile.

She plops down on the sofa with a groan. "I feel like a whale already."

"You've gained a lot more weight this time," I point out. Her glare sends me hastily backtracking. "But it's a good thing and you look beautiful."

I'm not allowed to say she glows, whether I think she does or not. Sitting up, I slide across the hardwood floor until my back is against the sofa and my knees are bent in front of me. Resting David's feet on my abdomen, I help him practice standing up, another of his favorite games.

Donna reaches down and runs her hand through my hair. 

"You're so good with him," she yawns.

"Sounds like Mommy needs a nap, doesn't it, Bear?" He's holding my fingers tightly in his hands and with little effort I'm able to pull him forward until he collapses against my chest. He giggles some more and starts grabbing for my nose and babbling.

"Mommy needs to know if Daddy is going to be ready for his annual Turkey Feed," Donna retorts with laughter in her voice.

***

"Daddy is taking Wednesday off to shop and bake and pick up your Grandma Mamme from the airport," Josh stands David back on his feet, explaining his plan directly to the baby. "You, Bear, get to stay home and help."

A year ago, Josh's behavior would have had me on the phone to Stanley Keyworth. Now, I consider it normal. My how times have changed.

"When is Grandma Mamme going to get here?" I try in vain to repress my giggles.

Ignoring my laughter at his expense, Josh lifts David up, holding him about two inches from his face. "Your Grandma Mamme's flight is supposed to get in at noon."

"Josh, honey?"

He tilts his head back and looks at me questioningly.

"You're nuts," I tell him. "You know that, right?"

"Well, yeah," he retorts as though I'm stating the obvious. 

"Also, you know it's supposed to snow this week?" I don't know if he's seen a weather report or not.

"Snow?" he repeats. His hands provide our son just enough support so he doesn't topple over as he sits upright on his Daddy's lap.

"Frozen precipitation falling from the sky in the form of ice crystals. You remember, we saw it in Wisconsin during our wedding," I remind him, reaching down to pat him on the cheek.

"Lots of snow?" he asks, crestfallen.

"The forecast is for 8 to 10 inches on Wednesday afternoon," I break it to him.

"This is going to screw up my holiday, isn't it?" 

Thanksgiving, oddly, is Josh's favorite holiday. He pretends to get geared up for Hanukkah and the only aspect of Christmas I think he likes is finding my gift, but Thanksgiving turns him into a Martha Stewart clone.

"You mean since Toby and Sam are out in LA setting up those focus groups? When are they supposed to fly home?"

"Wednesday afternoon. If they don't kill each other first," Josh chuckles. He tilts his head back a bit, allowing me to toy with his hair. 

"Tell me again whose idea this was?" 

It came up in a staff meeting late last week and President Bartlet jumped on the idea of asking real Americans, as opposed to politicians and lobbyists, what issues they wanted to see addressed. He also wanted it done in focus groups, rather than through phone polling. Toby and Sam, as the drafters of the State of the Union speech, were sent to California to work with Joey Lucas on the questions and presentations. They're also trying to determine which locations would yield the most representative data.

"There was some editorial in one of last Sunday's papers about how the Administration is really just a bunch of Ivy League liberal Beltway insiders who have no idea what real Americans want from their government. Some guy from one of the groups, Gannett or Hearst, kept bringing it up in every single press briefing," Josh rolls his eyes.

"You are an Ivy League liberal Beltway insider. Don't act all offended," I tease him.

"I am not! I'm a reformed Ivy League liberal Beltway insider. I done bought property in Wisconsin," he returns in a voice that sounds like a cross between _Fargo_ and _Gone with the Wind_.

I groan at how horrible his accent is.

"What?" Josh gets up and crawls onto the couch with me, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"That was terrible," I laugh, meeting his eyes.

The sparkle I see is irresistible and the lingering scent of his aftershave causes my blood to suddenly boil with need. David's presence between us is the only thing keeping me from jumping my husband with no warning.

"I'm just gonna put David down over there." Josh points vaguely over his shoulder, nearly falling off the couch.

***

What used to be subtle signals I barely recognized before we started dating have become blazing neon signs after two years together and several months of marriage.

It's playtime for grownups.

I sit David down on his mat, make sure his bear is close at hand and thank God for a son who can amuse himself.

"How much longer do you think we [ ]can get away with doing this while he's in the room?" I ask with a smirk.

Donna is now sitting up on the sofa, her legs slightly parted. I can smell her desire and it has the predictable effect on me - Spongebob expresses an interest in what's going on.

"I don't think we need to worry about it right now," Donna replies. 

***

"Donna," Josh moans, leaning against me, his lips nibbling my neck. After a few minutes of good old-fashioned necking, he stretches out at the opposite end of the couch. To my great delight he begins to massage my feet.

Our post-intercourse foreplay doesn't last long. I catch a glimpse of the clock on the VCR and if I don't feed David now, he'll start screaming in about five minutes. Josh is used to scheduling our sexual activity around the baby and doesn't grumble when I ask him to bring David to me. He just gets up and, task accomplished, returns to what he was doing.

***

_Wednesday, November 26, 2003._

It's never good when the phone rings at 2:30 in the morning. Especially when you are supposed to have the day off.

"Yeah?" I answer after fumbling with the handset.

"Joshua Lyman, please."

"Speaking." This really isn't good. People who call at 2:30 in the morning and ask for me by my full name are not telemarketers with crappy watches.

"Mr. Lyman, this is Major Smith. I am the White House Military Office watch officer. I need your code word, sir."

Code word Code word? Oh, right my National Security Council code word. The one I'm supposed to use to confirm my identity over the phone with the watch officer. What the hell is it? I picked something easy to remember, right? What was it 

"Mr. Lyman?" Major Smith sounds a trifle perturbed.

"Jackass." I remember all of a sudden.

"Mr. Lyman, we have a situation requiring the presence of an NSC officer. You are the officer on call. I'm sending a car for you. It ought to be there in ten minutes."

The major hangs up the phone without another word. Ten minutes gives me just enough time to make coffee and dress, but not shower or shave. I'm taping a note to the bathroom mirror for Donna when there's a pounding on the front door of the apartment.

A very young marine in fatigues with a pistol strapped to his hip is standing there when I open it.

"Mr. Lyman?" he asks peremptorily, ignoring my appearance. "If you'll come with me, sir."

I follow him down to a snow-covered government-issue sedan. He opens the back door for me and then climbs in behind the wheel.

"What's going on?" I ask, figuring he probably doesn't know.

"I was just told to retrieve you, sir." The marine says, not unkindly. 

The snow, which isn't supposed to hit the East Coast until late tonight, is already three inches deep, making the trip to the White House far slower than normal.

A young lieutenant meets the car and ushers me into the Situation Room. This is the first time I've ever served as the NSC point person and I'm not sure what the procedure is. Major Smith is in the room, however, and he apologizes for waking me.

"What's going on?" I ask, trying to look like I know what I'm doing. The Situation Room intimidates the hell out of me.

"One of our Aegis cruisers, the USS Shiloh, was docked in Qumar for Thanksgiving liberty. She was attacked by terrorists in a rubber boat," he begins his briefing.

There is an impressive array of overhead satellite imagery already. A fluke I learn, the satellites happened to be in the right place at the right time. 

"When will the Pentagon and CIA be ready to brief?" I ask when he finishes, knowing both agencies are probably playing catch up at this time of the morning.

"The Pentagon says they're ready now, but the watch officers at Langley are asking for another half an hour and State wants an hour," Major Smith says.

I look at the clock on the wall displaying DC time. It'll be four o'clock before we hear from State. Considering what I'm going to do next, an hour isn't going to cut it.

"Is the Secretary of Defense out of bed yet?" I ask, getting to my feet.

"I believe so, sir."

I stop at the door. "Make sure, then get everyone else rolling in. Dr. McNally, Leo McGarry, General Alexander, Chuck Hills, though I think he's in Germany this week. Congratulations, Major Smith - you get to wake up the federal government. Also tell State to get the lead out of their ass. I want what they know in thirty minutes. Any longer- they explain why to the President."

"Yes, sir." He looks positively gleeful at getting to tell off State. "What are you going to do, sir?"

"I'm going to wake the President," I tell him, heading out the door and taking the stairs to the Residence.

***

Compromising with Josh and getting the SUV was the smartest thing I did last year. Mother Nature dumped almost six inches of snow on us last night and while the storm has slacked off some, we're supposed to get a lot more. I'm not worried, though. I'm enjoying my ground clearance and four-wheel drive.

David managed to toss his hat on the floor during the brief drive in. I tug it down over his ears, wrap his scarf a little tighter and maneuver him out of the car seat. Not knowing how long Josh will be tied up, I figured the best course of action was to go ahead and bring him into daycare. Josh can pick him up when he leaves to get Elisa from the airport. Dorothy Givens is working the front desk when I finally reach the EEOB. 

"Short staffed?" I ask, handing over the bag Josh irreverently refers to as 'David's Big Bag of Shit Accessories.'

"Everyone is calling in," she shakes her head. "The only good thing is we'll have fewer kids today because of the snow."

"You'd think it never snows in Washington. If you need to close shop, just call and we'll come get him." David gets a kiss before I had him to Dorothy. "You be a good boy."

"He'll be fine. You have a good day, Mrs. Lyman." 

Dorothy refuses to call me Donna, despite my repeated admonitions that Mrs. Lyman is my mother-in-law.

Trudging across the slush and snow-covered street to the West Wing, my Wisconsin-honed senses tell me this storm is just taking a breather. It's going to get worse before it gets better. Bright yellow 'Caution - Wet Floor' signs decorate the lobby in an effort to call attention to the melting snow being tracked across the marble floors.

Debbie and Chris are bustling around the bullpen getting ready for what they thought was going to be a light day. Personally, I'm pretty sure all hell is about to break loose and ruin Thanksgiving for us.

"Debbie? I need you to round up weather forecasts for New York, Boston, DC, Chicago and Atlanta. Get them ready for Josh. Also, my mother-in-law is supposed to be flying into National around noon on United. Since my husband was in charge of picking her up, I don't have a flight number. I do know she had a layover in Atlanta. See if you can find out how late she's going to be," I rattle off, sweeping through the bullpen. Stopping at the door to my office, I turn around and give one more order. "Chris, I'm supposed to be in a meeting up on the Hill at 10:30. Make some phone calls, find out if that's still on."

"Ma'am?" He looks confused.

"The storm's going to get worse, Chris. I want you to call Senator Richardson's office and see if we're still meeting this morning," I spell out, wondering how this kid ever made a positive impression on Josh.

The next two hours are spent doing research for some pending legislation and formulating a position paper for Josh to sign off on. Even after six months in this new, rather nebulous job, I still insist Josh review my work. He very rarely changes anything, which I guess is encouraging.

"I'm going up to the Hill," I tell Debbie, motioning for her to walk me out. "Make sure Josh gets those weather reports when he finally turns up. Also, what did you find out about the flight I asked you to check on?"

"Chris called Mrs. Lyman's cell phone and she's stuck in Atlanta. Right now, everything is just delayed, but if it changes or she gets on a flight, she said she'd call Mr. Lyman. Drive safe out there." Debbie has a dubious look on her face as she surveys the overcast sky.

The thing about driving in snow isn't that I don't know how - I grew up in Wisconsin for pete's sake - it's that nobody in Washington knows how to drive in winter weather conditions. Or, this being the first snowfall of the year, they've forgotten how.

I score a parking spot on C Street north of the Senate office buildings and hustle through the metal detector in the lobby. I'm a few minutes late, but nobody in the room takes note when I initially slip into the room. 

Only when I hand my coat to the young woman near the door do I notice the dried remains of David's breakfast on my suit jacket. I desperately attempt to scratch it off before I'm seen, but Senator Carol Richardson ends all hope. 

"Donna! It was so good of you to come!" If the woman exuded any more false enthusiasm at my presence, I'd vomit.

"It was very kind of you to invite me," I reply, self-conscious of my appearance. "Is there a bathroom nearby? I didn't realize my son drooled all over my jacket"

She looks down her nose ever so slightly and then nods toward the corner of the banquet room. "Over in the corner."

"Thank you. I'm just going to go" I'm a trifle mortified, but I'm still less paranoid here than I was at my high school reunion.

"Certainly. I'll find you again later."

"Don't worry about the good Senator, honey," Representative Paula McKenzie's Texas twang follows me into the ladies' room. "Everyone who has kids has been right where you are now. Trust me, nobody who matters cares."

"I just wanted to make a good first impression," I glance at the freshman Congresswoman in the mirror while I make quick work of the stain. She's leaning casually against the opposite wall with her arms crossed. I haven't had much occasion to interact with her, so I'm not sure how to read her body language.

"Do you know whether your next one is a boy or a girl?" 

"We don't know. It was kind of fun being surprised with David, so we decided not find out this time either." I shrug my blazer back on.

"I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?" I ask. 

"Work in that madhouse over there and balance your family. I know how hard it can be on this end of Pennsylvania Avenue and you people work more insane hours than we do." The congresswoman's voice conveys her admiration.

"Josh is more hands-on than most people think," I hedge, wanting to give him due credit, but not wanting to ruin his reputation as Bartlet's bulldog.

Paula pushes herself away from the wall. "You're selling yourself short. You weren't invited because of whom you're married to. You know that, right?"

"I'm not sure why I was invited."

That's the unvarnished truth. The Democratic Women's Leadership Caucus is primarily made up of Senators and Congresswomen with a leavening of lobbyists, businesswomen and a couple of journalists. It is, without a doubt, one of the most influential networking groups in DC. Josh and Leo live in fear of the day the DWLC decides to come down off the Hill and wreck havoc on the domestic policy agenda. To date, they do nothing more than gather once a month for brunch.

***

"It's an isolated incident," Secretary Hutchinson interrupts me for the third time. "Nothing in the intelligence reports over the past several months has indicated"

"Nothing in the intelligence reports over the past several months indicated a bunch of guys in a rubber boat were going to launch a repeat of the Cole incident either," I grab the floor back, earning myself a glare from Leo and a sigh from the Secretary of State. 

The major players in the National Security Council: Dr. McNally, the Secretaries of Defense and State, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Leo, the President and myself - have been sequestered in the Oval Office since five o'clock this morning arguing over what needs to be done both internationally and domestically in response to the attack on out cruiser.

In regards to the international ramifications, I've kept my opinions to myself for hours, deferring to General Alexander and Nancy McNally. The discussion has turned to Homeland Security, however, and since Chuck Hills is out of the country, I am the room's expert. Much to the dismay of Miles Hutchinson, who thinks I'm a bit of a dove to put it mildly. I heard he recently called me a two-bit pansy with delusions of grandeur.

"Do you really want to ramp up the terror alert level on the day before Thanksgiving?" Hutchinson argues. "When half the country is heading to grandma's house for dinner tomorrow? Are you insane? Do you understand the impact raising the alert level will have on holiday travel? And then when nothing happens we look like hapless idiots. Again."

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down. The Secretary of Defense can drive me nuts faster than half of the Republicans on the Hill and we've been at this for over six hours.

"Yes, Mr. Secretary, I'm saying we need to raise the alert level. The day is half over. It won't have the impact on travel you think it will. Take a look outside." I make a sweeping gesture at the Oval Office's frost-covered windows. "You can't get there from here by air and if I'm a suicide bomber, an airport terminal full of stranded holiday travelers is an enticing target."

"You can't just pull a van full of explosives into the white zone anymore, Lyman," Hutchinson scoffs.

My ass you can't. I open my mouth to say something slightly less profane, but close it when Leo stands up. 

"Mr. President, we need to make a decision," Leo pointedly ends the discussion before I'm allowed to present my case.

He sighs and stands, bringing the rest of us to our feet. "We already raised the force protection level, correct?"

"It was automatically raised to Charlie for most commands when the Shiloh was attacked, sir. The port where the attack occurred is at Delta for the next couple of days," General Alexander confirms.

"Let's just leave well enough alone for right now then," he decides, siding with Secretary Hutchinson. It takes all my self-control to not hang my head in defeat. "We can always reevaluate the situation later. Thank you, everyone. I'm sorry this turned into an all morning thing."

With a round of 'thank you, sirs' everyone stands and files out the door. I head straight for my office, needing to wrap up a couple loose ends before heading to the airport to get my mother.

"Where's Donna?" I call, flipping through the stack of phone messages Chris handed me as I stormed past.

A glance at the atomic clock tells me it's 11:30. I'm not going to have time to pick up David. Both assistants have appeared in my doorway, casting anxious glances at the windows behind me.

Debbie opens her mouth, but Chris speaks first. "Mrs. Lyman is stranded in Atlanta until at least tomorrow."

"You mean my mother, right?" I ask, looking over my shoulder at the blowing whiteness and then down at the stack of National Weather Service advisories on my desk.

"Yes, sir. And the Mrs. Lyman you're married to is still up on the Hill at her meeting," Debbie volunteers.

"Okay. Look, the two of you get out of here before the snow gets too bad." I'm feeling magnanimous, despite getting my ass kicked by Miles Hutchinson in the Oval Office. If these weather reports are even remotely accurate, DC isn't going to dig out from under this thing until Monday.

They both scramble for their coats and leave just before the phones start to ring off the hook. I grab the one on my desk.

"Lyman."

"Mr. Lyman? This is Dorothy Givens from the EEOB daycare center."

"What's wrong? Is David okay?" I'm a pessimist by nature. I admit it.

"David's fine," she chuckles. "But we need to close down early because of the weather"

"Oh, sure. I'll be right over."

I discover just how bad the weather is when I dash across the street. Dorothy Givens is waiting for me in the lobby of the daycare with David and his bag. It's clear she's waiting on me so she can go home herself.

"I'm sorry, Dorothy. I've been in the Oval Office all day," I apologize and take David from her. 

He greets me by squealing and grabbing my nose.

"Hey, Bear. You want to go hang out at Daddy's office?" His delight at seeing me helps soothe over the bad day I'm having. "Thanks again, Dorothy. Have a Happy Thanksgiving."

We're barely out the door when my pager starts beeping wildly.

"Whatever it is can wait," I mutter, navigating the increasingly slick sidewalks with David in my arms.

Once we reach the warmth of the West Wing, I shift David on my hip and reach for my pager: "Oval - NSC - Now."

Oh, hell. 

I contemplate the baby in my arms. When the President said David was welcome in the Oval Office at all times, I doubt he had a national security crisis in mind. I sent all non-essential Operations personnel home on my way across the street. What am I going to do? I mentally run through who would still be in the building and come up with only one name.

"CJ?" I skid breathlessly into her office.

"Leo is screaming bloody murder looking for you." She's bent over her desk scrounging for an article.

"I know, but I had to go get David. The daycare closed and Donna's not back yet," I plead.

She shakes her head, immediately knowing what I want from her. "No, Josh. I can't. Every time I look at him, he screams."

"Everybody else is gone or I wouldn't ask. Please? There are a couple of books in his bag; you can just read to him. He loves to be read to. Donna should be back before he gets hungry. Please?" I try the puppy dog eyes that my wife can't resist.

"Oh, give him to me." She caves and reaches for David.

"You can take his coat off, by the way," I yell over my shoulder, dashing off to the Oval Office. 

Cutting through Leo's office saves me some time and I ditch my overcoat there. A young officer from the Military Office is briefing the group when I quietly enter and cross to my usual spot near the portico doors. 

"What took you so long?" Leo scowls, handing me a folder.

"I had to go get David. I was gone for 10 minutes," I reply under my breath, flipping the folder open.

I give half an ear to the briefing officer while I skim the report. Its contents make me livid. In an attack nearly identical to the one on the Shiloh, terrorists hit a cruise ship making a port call in Puerto Rico. 25 people were killed.

Maybe now we can raise the alert level, I fume silently.

***

Josh isn't in his office when I get back at about one o'clock, but after hearing the news about the cruise ship attack on the radio, I didn't expect him to be. Debbie and Chris are both gone, which is fine because it isn't safe to drive out there. The snow started again during the two hours I was networking.

All of the assistants and non-essential personnel appear to have taken off. The West Wing is nearly deserted. I pour myself a cup of coffee and decide to see if CJ needs any help.

"Do you need" I stop short in the doorway to her office, flabbergasted at the sight before me.

CJ is perched on her couch beside a sobbing bundle of blankets. From the tiny blue and red Mets stocking cap on her desk and the diaper bag at her feet, I presume my son is the object of her attention. 

"Thank God!"

"The daycare closed?" I surmise.

"Just before noon. Josh got paged while he was over there and he gave me that look"

The puppy dog eyes, CJ had no chance.

"How do you resist those eyes?"

"I don't. Don't feel bad," I laugh. "Has he eaten?"

"No. It started out okay. We read his books and then he started to get fussy I think he needs to be changed, 'cause he kind of smells."

"You have no idea how to change a diaper, do you?" I flick my hand, telling her to move so I can sit down and make quick work of his dirty diaper.

CJ uses the time to shut her door and draw the shades. I look at her questioningly.

"I figured you'd want to feed him," she shrugs.

"I" I smile at her gratefully. "I do. Thank you." 

Her simple gesture is a testament to how much more accepting our friends have become in the last month. Just before Halloween, CJ freaked at the very idea of being in the room when I breastfed.

"Did you not get a snack this morning?" I gasp out loud at the ferocity with which he latches and proceeds to suckle with.

In response, he just presses his fists that much harder against my flesh. Josh needs to make some actual progress on the solid food front with this kid.

"How was the thing?" CJ asks, sitting down at the other end of the small sofa.

"Weird. I'm still not sure why I was invited."

"You're an up and coming player in the Democratic Party, Donna, you know that."

"You're already a player in the Party. How come you never get invited?" I ask the question I've been wondering all morning. Why me and not CJ?

"Yes, but you have the ear of one of the President's most influential advisors. Among other things," CJ leers jokingly.

"Which is what I thought at first, too. And that's fine, they can try to work me to get to Josh all they want, it'll backfire before it's successful. But I got cornered by Paula McKenzie in the restroom," I start to explain.

"Freshman from Texas?" CJ interrupts.

"Right. And she said I wasn't invited because of whom I'm married to. Which is why I'm confused."

"Who actually called and asked you to go?"

"Carol Richardson."

CJ makes a face. Richardson is a conservative Democrat from California. We're pretty sure she's a Democrat in name only because she couldn't get elected out of the San Francisco area as a Republican. She and my husband have a mutual dislike for one another. 

"No, you weren't invited because of Josh, I'll agree there."

"Yeah. Hey, have you heard from Sam or Toby?" I change the subject, wondering if we can salvage Thanksgiving.

"Toby called this morning. The first leg of their flight was non-stop to O'Hare and it was closed to incoming traffic before they ever left the hotel. It sounds like they won't be able to get back until Friday. I think Joey Lucas is planning to take pity on them tomorrow."

There's a knock at the door before I can make any snide comments about Toby and Sam being stranded for Thanksgiving.

"Who is it?" CJ calls, getting up and cracking the door open. I hastily drape a blanket over my exposed breast in case it's a reporter. 

The sound of Dr. Bartlet's voice puts me at ease. "I'm just trying to find out who's stranded."

"Come on in, ma'am." CJ opens the door enough for the First Lady and an unobtrusive Secret Service agent to enter.

"Solid foods not going well?" Abbey steals CJ's spot on the couch.

I return her smile. "Solid foods are Josh's project. Nature provided me with alternative feeding options."

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Mrs. Bartlet motions between CJ and I.

"No, we were just trying to figure out why Donna got invited to the DWLC brunch this morning," CJ says.

"You know, back when Jed was in the House, the DWLC was a group of Congressional wives who wanted an excuse to get together and bitch about their husbands. And find out who they were sleeping with," Abbey offers, leaning back against the arm of the couch. "Then those wives started inviting the odd woman who had gotten herself elected and then a there were a couple of women in the Press Corps, in fact I think Helen Thomas was an original member. Before the wives knew it they were outnumbered and not very welcome."

Her story, while interesting, doesn't explain how I ended up being asked to attend. I'm one of those wives who wouldn't be very welcome.

"I still don't understand."

"You know there's a rumor floating around the Press Room about a Lyman running for office in the not so distant future. Maybe they think it's going to be you," CJ suggests with a thoughtful look.

Abbey nods noncommittally. "Don't worry about the why, Donna. Just enjoy the fact you're influential enough to be invited."

"But I'm not" I start to protest. I change the subject when the First Lady shakes her head at me subtly. There's more to this than I know right now. "What brings you down here, ma'am?"

"I'm seeking out the orphans and the stranded. So far, I've discovered the support staffers have more brains than most of their bosses and are already gone. Is anybody left in Communications?" she asks CJ.

"Just the couple of guys who drew the short straws and had to work tomorrow anyway. They volunteered to stay and work the overnight desk."

"Since there was nobody around when I came back, I assume Josh sent everybody he could in Operations home. Margaret's even gone." I agree.

"I think it would be wisest if you just stayed over in the Residence tonight. Jed and I will expect you for supper tonight and dinner tomorrow. Don't try to tell me whatever holiday plans you had aren't shot to hell." Abbey gets to her feet, motioning for us to keep our seats.

CJ and I exchange glances after the door closes behind her. 

"I'll bet he's going to give that lecture we all escaped last year. The one about the hats the pilgrims wore," CJ groans.

I shudder at the thought. "As long as there isn't any pink fluff at the table. 'Cause you know it'll be some kind of ancient Bartlet family recipe we all have to try and I hate pink fluff, CJ. The sight of it makes me want to puke." 

***

I'm not sure why I expected Josh to gloat that this wouldn't have happened if I had listened to him in the first place. I suppose because a couple of years ago he would have. Now, however, he stands in his normal spot off to my right, doing what he did during this morning's session - watching and listening attentively. I've been impressed with his professionalism today. Even when I didn't take his advice this morning, he kept his peace.

Something Nancy McNally didn't feel the need to do after the first meeting broke up. She was in here when we got word about the cruise ship; telling me in no uncertain terms she thought he was right about the need to raise the alert level. Her exact words escape me, but her point was simple: Josh spent a great deal of time making himself the Administration's expert on Homeland Security at my request and to ignore his professional advice was foolhardy at best and put lives in danger at the worst.

She also referred to Miles Hutchinson as a Napoleonwanna-be, but I'm almost certain she was being sarcastic.

After the briefing officer finishes, I solicit options from the people in the room. 

"Miles?"

The Secretary of Defense clears his throat and shoots an indecipherable look toward Josh before voicing his opinion. "Mr. President, at this point, I think what we do is continue the current level of Force Protection and raise the terror alert level to high."

"Does anyone disagree?" I glance around, taking in the shaking heads and general agreement. "Get it done."

Leo catches my eye and nods toward Josh, who seems determined to exit the room as quickly as possible. I return his gesture and send my Chief of Staff after his Deputy. Leo needs the chance fix whatever is wrong with Josh.

***

I grab my coat and almost clear Margaret's desk area before Leo chases me down.

"Josh." He jerks his head toward the closest room.

I precede him into the Mural Room, pretty sure I know what this is about. Closing the door, Leo turns to face me and then doesn't say a word.

"What? I left David with CJ and she wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect."

"You can't blame yourself for what happened in Puerto Rico," he says, placing his hand on my shoulder and gripping it gently. "You had a good day, Josh."

"If I'd had a good day, 25 people on a holiday cruise in Puerto Rico would be gorging themselves at the all-you-can-eat buffet dinner. Not coming home in body bags," I reply derisively, shrugging off his hand.

"We have to be cautious sometimes. This was the first time you've ever been in an NSC meeting like this. We can't cry wolf every time there's a hint something bad might happen. And this time there wasn't even a hint," Leo says.

The condescension in his voice pushes me right over the edge and my frayed temper explodes.

"I didn't want this damn job, Leo. I didn't ask for it. I gave the damn card back the first time. But you and the President insisted I step up and do it. So I did the best damn job I could. I learned more about emergency management, military readiness, foreign policy and intelligence than I ever wanted to know. You asked me to become your expert on Homeland Security and I did. I did everything you asked me to and when it comes time for me to give you an informed opinion, you cut me off and roll over for Miles Hutchinson," I pause and stare at Leo stonily before continuing. "You are right about one thing - I am new in there and there are people on the National Security Council who think I don't have any idea what I'm talking about. I guess I didn't realize you were one them." 

He opens his mouth to refute my statement and then stops. "He has to consider every option, Josh. You aren't always right."

"Despite published reports to the contrary, I'm not egotistical enough to say he has to take my advice. I'm just asking you to hear me out."

"People did listen to you and you did have a good day, son," Leo tries again, stepping away from the door.

"Sell it to the people who lost loved ones today." I answer coldly, slamming the door on my way out.

***

My husband alone in his office with the lights out is never an indicator of a good day. I settle David in the port-a-crib next to my desk before entering Josh's lair. He's sitting with his feet on the windowsill, lost in the blizzard raging outside.

"Hey," I whisper quietly, making myself at home on his lap.

"How was your thing?" He takes my hand and absently rubs his thumb over the back of it.

I, in turn, rest my head on his chest. "It was okay. I'm still not sure why I was invited."

"You're an influential member of this Administration. Why wouldn't they invite you?" 

I'm touched at his sincerity, but we're not sitting in his dimly lit office at 2 o'clock in the afternoon because I had a lousy day.

"What happened?"

Josh sighs deeply. "25 people were killed by some nuts in a rubber boat because I couldn't make nice with the Secretary of Defense."

The infamous Lyman guilt complex rears its ugly head. It's been quite some time since Josh tried to take the blame for something outside of his direct control.

"No," I lift my head and stare at him until he meets my eyes. "25 people died because of some nuts in a rubber boat."

"Donna," he whines, clearly wanting to brood.

"Josh," I mimic him. "Don't do this, honey. No matter what happened in the Oval Office, do you really think you could have prevent any of today's events?"

"Yes! Okay? Yes, I do! If we had raised the alert level, those people would never have been allowed to leave the cruise ship and port security would have been tightened," Josh says empathetically.

"Who made the decision to not raise the alert level?" I ask the rhetorical question to help Josh realize he isn't at fault for what happened today.

"The President," he admits after a moment of silence.

"Did you tell him what you thought should be done?"

"I got cut off."

"By whom?"

"Hutchinson and then Leo."

We have a winner. He's upset because Leo wouldn't listen to him. Even though he insists Leo will never take his father's place, Leo's approval means the world to Josh and he knows it. Leaving me with the question of why Leo cut him off.

"Were you going to say something that hadn't already been said?" 

"It doesn't matter. I'm supposed to be the guy on Homeland Security, Donna. They sat me down and convinced me I could make a difference by doing this shit. I did everything they fucking asked me to do. I gave up how many hours with you to get myself educated on this crap? We cut our goddamn honeymoon short! But when it counts, I don't get to voice my fucking opinion? And 25 innocent people get killed. It's bullshit!" Josh rages. If I weren't sitting in his lap, he'd be pacing.

"What are you going to do? Turn your card in again?" I challenge.

"I don't know," he sighs. The fight drains out of him and leaves behind the guilt. "Can we go home?"

"We're staying here tonight. The Bartlets are expecting us for supper." Accepting the First Lady's offer without talking to Josh may have been a mistake.

"We're doing what?" Josh asks in disbelief.

"Dr. Bartlet invited us to stay here rather than drive home. And since our holiday plans have fallen through, she wants us to have dinner here tomorrow as well."

"Donna!" He whines, but follows me into my office to gather David's things.

"Go back in there and get your spare clothes," I order, pointing at his office.

***

A steward shows us to the Pierce Bedroom. He politely informs us dinner will be promptly at six o'clock and we should make ourselves at home before leaving the room and closing the door.

David is asleep in Donna's arms, so I set up the port-a-crib we brought from her office. She lies him down and covers him with the green and gold afghan her great-aunt Gertrude sent us as a baby gift, then wraps her arm around my waist.

Watching my little boy breathing evenly, my guilt surges again. Twenty-five years ago, someone stood over the crib of their young son and thought about the future not knowing it would include a representative from a cruise-line would be knocking on door to tell them their son and his brand-new wife had been killed in a terrorist attack on their honeymoon.

"Josh?" Donna whispers questioningly.

"I just I feel like I didn't do enough. I should have done more." My voice is raspy and I'm struggling to keep my emotions under control.

"Come and lie down," Donna suggests. "You didn't sleep last night, you're exhausted."

"I don't need a nap. I need my boss to stop treating me like an intern and start taking me seriously," I nearly bite her head off.

"I'll rub your back," she ignores my tantrum, turning me toward the bed before releasing her hold. She crosses her arms and cocks her hip, clearly stating she's in charge.

With a heavy sigh, I shrug out of my coat, shirt and tie.

"Take everything off," she instructs when I move to lie down.

Buck naked, I'm finally allowed to sprawl across the bed. Donna straddles my waist and begins kneading the tense muscles in my back. 

***

I strip down to my underwear, figuring this will end with an activity that doesn't require clothing. Josh is a gigantic knot of anger and guilt. I start with his neck and shoulders, working diligently until each muscle lets go of its tension. Josh groans repeatedly in appreciation of my efforts. I can feel his anxiety waning by the time I reach his butt. The urge to end this properly is overwhelming.

When Josh is finally spent, I crawl up to cuddle in his arms. We don't speak, I just stroke his chest until his breathing tells me he's asleep.

***

"Shh, Bear" I whisper. I'm pacing the hallways of the Residence trying to get David to calm down. He woke up from his nap while Josh was still sleeping and started crying. I changed him and tried to feed him, but he still wouldn't stop wailing. The change in his routine is probably why he's so cranky. 

He's not unlike his father that way. But I can't calm my son down with mind-blowing sex. 

"Donna?"

"Sir?" I push open the door to the President's private study. "We weren't disturbing you, were we? It's just he's only been in the Residence a couple of times and it's hard to get him to settle down in strange places"

"It's okay." He gets out of his chair, crossing the room to take David from my arms. "I can think of far more disturbing things than an upset child."

David responds by stopping mid-cry and staring at the President with frank curiosity.

"You remember me, don't you?" President Bartlet asks with a smile David happily returns. "You'll get used to this place in due time."

"Thank you for letting us stay." I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I know we don't live very far, but"

"Sit down, Donna," he interrupts me again, gesturing to the leather loveseat near his chair.

"I Thank you, sir." I don't know what to say. I tease Josh and the others quite a bit about getting trapped by the President and his stories, but I've never been on the receiving end.

"This is as good a time as any for us to talk."

"You want to talk to me?" This is a first.

"How's Josh?"

"He's okay." I reply carefully, in what may be the biggest overstatement of my life. "He's taking a nap. He didn't get any sleep last night."

"I imagine he told you what happened today. Do you like fingers?" President Bartlet addresses his last comment to David, who has grabbed the President's finger and is trying to pull it into his mouth.

I have to think about how to translate Josh's profanity-laden tirade into words I can actually use in the presence of the President of the United States. "He told me some of it."

President Bartlet's restrained chuckling surprises me somewhat. 

"If I'm honest with myself, I'd imagine he's not to keen on Leo or I right now."

When I don't answer, President Bartlet turns his attention to the baby. "You do look remarkably like your daddy, don't you?"

"He has Josh's personality, too," I snort, wondering how my mother-in-law survived Josh's childhood with her hair intact.

"Donna, I know Abbey's talked to you a couple of times about the ups and downs of being a politician's wife. I want you to understand she and I have the utmost faith in you."

"Sir?" I'm confused.

"Every President likes to leave a legacy and an heir, so to speak, to continue their agenda and finish what they started. For most, it's a Vice-President they handpicked and brought along to take over the job. I've chosen to focus a little further into the future," he says with a glance down at David.

Meeting my eyes, he continues. "It was supposed to be Sam. He had it all - youth, passion, vigor. But then a funny thing happened on the way to the forum, so to speak."

"Sir?" This conversation has reduced me to one, single-syllable word.

"You."

"Me?" Okay, I've got two words now.

"Well, you and then this little guy and I'm sure your next child will have an equally strong impact," President Bartlet shifts David in his arms just slightly, letting the boy continue to gum his fingers. "Josh is still unsure of himself on some things and untried in many ways, but he's learning. He's got his eye on the big picture now. You're responsible for a lot of his growth. You should take great pride in the changes you've wrought in him."

"I'm not sure I understand." And that's as much an understatement as my earlier assessment of Josh being fine was an overstatement. I haven't changed Josh. At least, not intentionally. Any changes to my husband have been his own doing.

"Josh is going on to great things."

"I know he wants to run for the Senate." Whatever else he's thinking about, he's keeping close to the vest.

"He'll only have that seat for a term. Two at the most. If he didn't need the experience of being a candidate, I'd talk him out of it. But you can't get where he's going without having run for something."

We're silent for a long time. I'm thinking hard about what the President has said and what he hasn't said, trying to read between the lines and decipher the code to my future with Josh. I wouldn't hazard a guess as to what President Bartlet is thinking about. 

"Do you like the White House, Donna?" he asks out of the blue.

"It's an interesting place to work."

"It's an interesting place to live, as well. Did you know John Kennedy was the last president to have young children in the White House? John, Junior was born mere weeks after he was elected."

"Mrs. Kennedy actually gave birth to a child while her husband was in office, too. They had a son named Patrick. He was born on August 7, 1963 and died two days later," I yawn. God knows I must be tired if I'm trading trivia with President Bartlet.

"I think a president should be surrounded by children, to help remind him of the future and why he's doing what he's doing," he says, getting to his feet.

I do the same with far less grace.

"Late March, right?" President Bartlet asks, handing back a far less fussy David.

"April 3rd," I correct him, feeling myself blush.

The President chuckles softly. "The second of many to come, Josh says."

"I want a big family," I admit, allowing myself to be ushered to the door. His eyes twinkle and ask the obvious question. "I don't know for sure. Maybe six or seven."

"A president should be surrounded by children," President Bartlet repeats, patting me on the arm.

This time I get the message he's trying to send.

***

"Feel better?" Donna's voice fills the small kitchen on the Residence's main floor.

"Some," I reply truthfully. Mind-blowing sex is a sure-fire way to alleviate my tension. 

"What are you doing?" She joins me near the butcher-block counter where I'm rolling out pie crust. I'm struck by how beautiful she is, standing there in a pair of flannel pants and one of my over-sized t-shirts with David on her hip. Not for the first time am I grateful she insists we keep emergency overnight bags in the office.

"The Bartlets were going to Manchester for Thanksgiving, so they gave the staff tonight and tomorrow off. I ran into Dr. Bartlet and she asked me if I'd cook dinner tomorrow," I gesture around the kitchen with my rolling pin. "This place is stocked with everything I could ever need and one of the chefs scrounged up a turkey before he took off."

"The girls and Charlie are already up there, aren't they?"

I nod and sprinkle a bit more flour over my dough to keep the rolling pin from sticking. "It's us, the Bartlets, CJ, Leo and Mamme if her flight gets in."

"What about supper?"

"I made your favorite comfort food. It's in the oven."

"You're going to feed the President and First Lady tator tot casserole?" My wife lifts her eyebrows, indicating she thinks I'm nuts.

"It's fast and easy and I can make pie crust while it's in the oven. Do you want fresh apple pie tomorrow or not?" I counter.

"Is the oven on?" Donna teases me with a smile.

"Yes, I turned the oven on."

"So, I just came from the President's study," Donna announces. She sits David down on the floor at our feet and picks up a knife to start slicing apples.

"Did he practice the pilgrim hat lecture on you?" I'm trying to keep the discussion light-hearted.

"No. Actually, we traded JFK trivia. Josh, where are we heading?"

I stop what I'm doing and face her. I'm not sure what she's asking. "Huh?"

"I mean, I know you're going to run for the Senate, but what happens after that?" 

I shrug. After today's experience, I'm no longer sure I'm capable of making the types of decisions I once thought I was.

"President Bartlet said every President wants to leave an heir and his was going to be Sam, but not anymore." Donna leaves her unasked question hanging. If not Sam, then who?

"He's talking about me," I answer her with a flash of insight. The changes in my job and assignments since last year's election start to make sense. "I I'm not sure I want it. Not after today. I'm not even sure I want to run for the Senate anymore."

Today was extremely disillusioning and added to the gun control thing last week, I'm starting to question my effectiveness in changing things for the better. Which is the only reason I'm in politics.

"What would you do instead?" Donna scoffs, popping an apple slice into her mouth.

"I could cash in my trust funds and live the life of a gentleman farmer in Wisconsin." As dorky and out of character as it sounds, it's increasingly enticing.

My wife just snorted at me.

"What?"

She simply stares at me like I'm an idiot until I hang my head. Once I concede, Donna wraps her arms around me and pulls me close.

"I just don't think I can make those kinds of choices," I whisper, resting my chin on her shoulder. "How do you live with yourself when 25 people die because you made the wrong decision?"

"That's a question you should ask him," Donna replies. "He wants you to ask, baby. He and Leo are both here for you. They know you're still learning and they want to teach you. Why do you think you spend so much time staffing him? Every other day when it used to be twice a week? He wants you in there, learning everything you can. And you are, honey. You are."

"You really think so?" 

Donna has always been wiser than me in these types of things. I can get tunnel vision and focus on the individual trees too much at times. Donna sees the whole forest and in that way we balance each other perfectly.

"I really think so."

"Are you okay with it?" I pull away, knowing we're about to start a journey that, with a good deal of luck, will bring us right back to this kitchen someday.

"As long as we do it together," she answers. Her blue eyes shine with a confidence in me I'm not sure I share. 

"Okay, then," I nod and seal our pact. 

***

"You talked to Donna?" Abbey asks. 

We're standing outside the kitchen eavesdropping on Josh and Donna.

I nod, leaning against the hallway wall. "Yeah, I thought she could help him understand."

"She knows him better than anyone." Abbey agrees. "I'm not questioning your choice. I happen to agree with it, but why Josh?"

"They remind me a lot of us, when we were younger," I admit. "They're both smart and empathetic and they listen to each other. Donna keeps him on an even keel and he supports her unconditionally."

Abbey purses her lips. "She's going to take a beating if they go through with it." 

"Because she's so much younger than he is?" 

"Mainly. She doesn't have a degree. Think about the way she got her job. We know how intelligent she is. We see her leadership and people skills every day. The public is going to see her as a little blonde tramp who slept her way into the West Wing."

My wife is exceedingly perceptive.

"So you convinced the DWLC to bring her in so she could start gaining some allies outside the Administration?" I ask knowingly.

"You're not the only one with a protégé, Jethro," she states, turning on her heel and heading away from the kitchen, toward our bedroom.

I stand in her wake, chuckling. 

"Are you coming?" she calls over her shoulder.

"I'm going to make sure there's going to be marshmallow salad." I love marshmallow salad. My mother had a family recipe she handed down to me.

"Nobody likes your pink fluff, Jed," Abbey shakes her head.

"You eat my pink fluff every year." What does she mean nobody likes my fluff?

"No, the cat eats your fluff every year. Why do you think she always has diarrhea every Thanksgiving."


	39. Festival of Trees and Lights

_Thursday, December 18, 2003._

Donna is worrying me today.

I found her digging through boxes at three o'clock this morning looking for the menorah my mother handed down to us last year. To get her to come back to bed, I had to swear I'd not only polish the thing tonight, but that I'd stop and get candles for it on my way home from work.

In my 41 years on this Earth, I have never bought my own Chanukah candles. Mamme ships them to me religiously to arrive the day I need them and I fully expect the box containing this year's supply to be delivered before sundown tomorrow. 

Along with 7 individually wrapped pairs of new boxer shorts and a pair of new shoes. 

Anyway. Back to Donna. I think this has to do with the holidays. Christmas is her favorite time of year and over the past couple of years, I've discovered there's something magical in her enjoyment of it. Something magical enough to override my normal apathy for this time of year.

What time where you planning to get home tomorrow? Donna sticks her head in my office.

I look up from the report I'm supposed to be reviewing for Leo and lean back in my chair. If President Bartlet will let me out of here early enough, I was thinking about taking David to temple at 6:30. Then I thought we would light the menorah, open the presents and pig out on latkes, like we did last year. Why?

I was thinking since Thanksgiving turned into such a bust, we could invite everyone over for a Chanukah party. Donna replies enthusiastically.

If you want to, I guess that's cool. I thought it would be nice just the three of us, I shrug. I'm not a huge fan of celebrating Chanukah with parties, but if she wants to

From the look on her face, I clearly took the wind out of her sails.

I let out a sigh. What's the deal? What's wrong with celebrating like we did last year? Just being together, opening the little gifts we get each other. Why do we have to make it a huge deal?

There's a knock on my doorframe before she can answer. 

You're supposed to be in the Oval Office in three minutes, my assistant says. Sensing he interrupted something, Chris retreats quickly.

Can we talk about this tonight? I ask, gathering my files.

We don't need to talk about it. If you don't want to have a party, we won't have a party, Donna says.

***

I got the party idea from Josh's mom. When she finally made it to DC for Thanksgiving, I pulled her aside and talked to her about how they used to celebrate Chanukah when Josh was younger. I know this isn't his favorite time of year and I thought it might make the holiday more special for him to revive some of his family's traditions. Elisa told me about the parties they threw every year on the ­ how they would get all their friends together to eat, gossip and socialize.

Evidently, Josh doesn't have the same fond memories of these parties as his mom.

***

I hang back after the rest of the economic team files out of the Oval Office following a mind-numbing lecture on the volatility of the modern business cycle to ask the President a question.

Well, a favor, really.

Need something, Josh? Bartlet asks, taking a memo from Charlie.

I have no idea why I'm so apprehensive about my request. It isn't all that out of line. I was wondering, sir Tomorrow is the first night of Chanukah and since it's Friday, I wanted to take David to temple, but the service starts at 6:30 and the last meeting tomorrow is on the schedule for 8 o'clock. I was wondering if someone else could cover the evening meetings.

President Bartlet stops reading and looks at me incredulously. You want to leave early tomorrow night so you can take David to church?

I correct him. And yes, sir. I'd like to leave early tomorrow night to take my son to temple.

There's nothing pressing on the agenda, is there? 

I shake my head and he shrugs in response. I don't see a problem then. You'll be back in Saturday morning, right? There isn't like a four hour follow-up thing the next morning is there?

No, sir, I smile. That's Toby. I'll be in Saturday morning.

***

Josh's meeting in the Oval Office gives me the perfect opportunity to start figuring out why he's less than excited about having a party tomorrow night. I waste no time picking up the phone to call the one person who knows my husband as well as I do. Someone who can shed some insight into his aversion to Chanukah parties.

The woman who mentioned them in the first place.

His mother.

She answers the phone after only two rings.

Elisa? It's Donna.

What's the matter, dear? she asks, instantly assuming the worst. Like mother, like son.

Nothing. Well, we're banning all food from Operations until New Year's if I have anything to say about it, but nothing's wrong. I just have a question.

Too much chocolate? she laughs.

Way too much chocolate and too many cookies and candy and everything, I agree. Anyway, you know how over Thanksgiving you were telling me about the parties you used to throw for the first night of Chanukah?

Of course, but Joshua already has my recipe for latkes and the box I sent with your gifts in it should be there tomorrow, along with

No, no, I interrupt. It's just When I mentioned it to Josh today, he didn't seem very enthusiastic. I wondered if you might know what the deal is?

Elisa says, thinking it over. There was a group of eight families in our congregation and every night each of us would host a get-together. Josh would have been about 13 when we started this I seem to recall he never went on school nights because he always had homework, but I don't honestly remember, Donna, I'm sorry.

It's okay. I just wanted to head it off if it was going to be a thing, I assure her.

I think it's going to be a thing.

I hate things during the holidays.

***

Since I'm not staffing the President today, I'm able to leave with Donna at 7 o'clock. She seems to have let the idea of a Chanukah party go, but I feel compelled to tell her why I don't want one.

I'm not particularly looking forward to the conversation. It's something I rarely talk about. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I've discussed it with Donna.

It takes me most of the evening to gather the courage to broach the subject. We're lounging together on the sofa, sharing a quilt, while we watch TV. David has been fed, entertained and bathed. He's snuggled against my chest, fighting sleep with little success.

Chanukah was Joanie's favorite holiday, I finally volunteer Grandpa used to come up from the City every night. We'd light the menorah at sundown and eat. After we got our little bags of gelt, Grandpa would get down on the floor with me and Joanie and we'd play with dreidel

Your mom said she and your dad used to host a party on the first night of Chanukah every year? Donna probes.

After Joanie died, Dad and Mamme kind of fell away from religion. I don't want to say they blamed God for what happened, but they had a hard time reconciling it, you know? I wait for Donna's nod before continuing. The closest Dad got to a synagogue for several years was dropping me off at Hebrew School twice a week. Grandpa would come up Friday night to take me to temple. He made sure I went to religious school on the weekends. I think I was twelve before my parents started going to temple again. It wasn't long before my bar mitzvah. That's when they started doing the party thing. It was too different for me. I wanted what we had before I wanted my sister. Dad and Mamme had stopped mentioning her by then When Grandpa passed away a couple of years later it felt like there was nothing left of her in my life, I finish in a whisper. 

I can feel the tears starting to work their way down my cheeks. This is why I so rarely talk about Joanie; I can't do it without crying.

***

Josh falls silent, taking his solace in rubbing David's back. He doesn't talk about his sister much. I know the basics: he was seven when she died and he blames himself for her death to this day. I know she played the piano and he loved to sing along. 

It felt like they were trying to erase the memories I had of her, he continues quietly. Like we couldn't celebrate the way we had before because it would hurt to much to remember how much Joanie loved it. She always wanted to light the candles while Dad and Grandpa said the blessings. We used to sneak downstairs after we were supposed to be in bed to watch them burn out every night.

How old was Joanie when she died? I ask when he pauses.

he swallows, taking a deep breath. Dad and Mamme were next door at the Meyers playing bridge. I was grounded because Justin Meyers and I had thrown rotten eggs at Old Man Richardson's house. Joanie was supposed to be practicing for a piano recital the next night. We were watching a movie instead and we wanted popcorn, so Joanie plugged machine in and started it

There was a faulty cord? I hazard a guess.

No. We got caught up in the movie and forgot about it. By the time we smelt it burning, it was too late. The popcorn was on fire. It was right under the curtains and they were on fire, too. Joanie sent me to get Dad while she stayed, but Josh stops. The tears that had been trickling down his face are streaming now. I find his hand and grip it, trying to give him the strength to finish his story.

Dad and Mr. Meyers tried to go in and save her, but they couldn't get into the kitchen. Mr. Meyers had to drag Dad out of the house to keep him from going after her he pauses again to steady his voice. Dad had the whole house torn down and rebuilt. Then he sold it and we moved across town.

When did your grandfather move in with you? This is another story I only know the outline of. Elijah Lyman was living with his son's family at the time of his death, but Josh has kept the details of his childhood close to his heart. When he has spoken of his grandfather, it has been with the reverence he reserves for his father.

It was early in the spring of '75, if I remember right. I had just turned 13. His room was right next to mine and when I had nightmares about the fire, he always heard me. I'd wake up and he'd be sitting on my bed, telling me it wasn't my fault. I'd usually be too scared to go back to sleep, so he would sit up with me and tell me how important it was that I never, ever forget about Joanie and how much she meant to me. He told me stories about my grandmother and their life in Poland before the Nazis. One night I finally got the nerve to ask him about the War and he told some of what he had seen at Auschwitz and Birkenau. He said because he survived, he had a duty to those who hadn't. A duty to pass on what he had witnessed to the next generation so the horrors men visited upon one another would not be forgotten and repeated. I made him a promise on his deathbed that I would not let our family die out and I would pass on his stories to my children. I promised him I would do everything I could to make sure nothing like the Holocaust ever happened again.

Josh's tears have stopped, a subdued pride replacing sadness in his eyes. I studied my ass off in high school to get into Harvard, so I could keep my promise to Grandpa. Once I got there, reality set in and I spent my freshman year learning things most guys learn in high school.

From Cindy McNeil? I ask, innocently. Josh blushes furiously at the mention of his pastry-chef ex-girlfriend.

And a few others, he admits. Mostly girls who came from different backgrounds than I did. I learned I can't drink hard liquor and smoking pot out of a homemade potato-bong makes me puke, but smoking it any other way is fine.

Joshua Lyman! You smoked pot in college? I feign shock.

I even inhaled, he grins briefly. It was the early 80's. Most people I knew were doing coke and LSD. I wanted to go to law school, though, and I couldn't afford to get busted. They looked the other way at marijuana back then, but if they caught you doing cocaine or anything like that, they expelled you.

Okay, so now I get why you don't want to have a party, but what's with the sudden urge to take David to temple? Other than your mother's nagging? I steer the conversation away from his college antics.

It isn't sudden, Josh replies. I loved going to temple when I was a little kid. They didn't have all the nursery and daycare stuff they do now. I remember sitting on Dad's lap, listening to the cantor sing. God, I wanted to be able to sing like that And I went every Friday night for six weeks in a row last summer.

When Josh glances down at David, I know what he's talking about. Our son has surrendered to sleep, his whole body rising and falling as he breathes.

When I came to Washington to work in Congress, I tried out different synagogues until I found one where I was comfortable. I didn't actually join, but I made an effort to go during the High Holy days and on the anniversaries of Grandpa and Joanie's deaths. I'm not sure how Rabbi Fink managed to learn my name, but he did. What did he say to you, by the way, to get you to let him in my room?

It takes me a minute to remember the incident he's referring to. The first Friday night after the shooting, a man came to his room and told me he was one of rabbis who volunteered at the hospital and would it be all right if he spent some time with Josh. I called the hospital administrator at home and when the guy checked out, I let him in, figuring Josh could use all the help he could get.

***

I thought you needed some divine intervention, Donna replies.

I did, I agree. I felt guilty about not putting more effort into going afterwards. I did finally join the congregation, but

You didn't go very often, Donna finishes.

It seemed like such an inconvenience. I had trouble justifying leaving early on Friday nights when everyone else was dealing with the crisis of the moment. But when David was born so early It was the only thing I could think to do. I felt like the only one who could give me the outcome I wanted was God. The doctors couldn't do anything. The President couldn't do anything. We were helpless.

There's nothing wrong with praying for what you want, Josh. God knows, I did my share during that time, Donna says, trying to reassure me what I did was normal.

It feels wrong because I only go when I want something. I feel like I need be at least a little more observant. I want I want David to remember going to temple with me the way I remember going with my dad. I want him to remember holidays as being about family, I finish. 

Donna meets my eyes, telling me without words she gets it.

***

Why don't you put David down and then come to bed? I suggest when it's clear Josh has finished his story. The emotional toll it has taken on him is plainly evident.

Without a word, he sits up slowly to avoid waking the baby and pads down the hall into the nursery. I can hear the low tones of his voice as he puts David to bed while I make my way to our bedroom. This has the potential to be a long night; Josh talked about a number of things that still cause nightmares for him.

He looks miserable when he joins me in bed. I feel like my heart is going to break for him when he crawls under the covers and curls up facing the wall.

I roll onto my side with the grace of a beached whale to touch him. Thank you.

For what? he mumbles, the crack of his voice betraying the tears he's shedding again.

For sharing yourself with me. I know you don't like to talk about Joanie and you've never told me so much about your grandfather before. I reach around his side to press the palm of my hand against his heart. I love you.

I love you, too. He lays his hand over mine, squeezing it tightly.

***

_Friday, December 19, 2003._

Before you go, Josh. President Bartlet opens his attaché case and pulls out a package wrapped in blue paper.

What's this? I ask, taking it.

It's a Chanukah present for David, he answers. Make sure you stop and see Leo on the way out. He's got something, too.

You didn't need to buy him anything, sir, really, I protest.

Abbey and I wanted to. End of discussion. Now, go see Leo and then get out of here or you'll be late, the President admonishes.

Leo gives me a similarly wrapped gift and sends me on my way. 

I swing through Donna's office to let her know I'm leaving. What the

Her sofa is piled high with gifts.

We need to educate our friends and co-workers on Chanukah gift-giving etiquette, Donna announces. She takes the two gifts from my hands and adds them to the stack.

I'm flabbergasted.

Everybody. Absolutely everybody. Including Janice the Trekkie.

I repeat. 

Donna says. Except Toby and I think I'll chalk that up to the fact Toby understands Chanukah isn't the Jewish version of Christmas. 

Well, actually Toby slipped me something at Staff this morning. But I think I know what it is, I pull the small, lumpy package out of my coat pocket.

Donna's face takes on a cast of pure disgust at the excess on display in her office. What are we going to do with this stuff? You know it's all toys and stuffed animals

Think fast, Lyman. This could send your wife into an emotional tailspin. Got it.

I close the door and toss Toby's gift from hand to hand. We keep the stuff from CJ, Sam, the Bartlets, Toby, Leo and

Matt Skinner, Donna interjects. 

And Matt, I agree. The rest of it, we donate to Toys for Tots or something. Then we send nice thank you notes, explaining while we appreciate the thoughtfulness

We couldn't in good conscience accept all of those gifts when there are thousands of children in Washington who won't get anything this holiday season, Donna continues, following my logic.

And next year, we put the word out early ­ no presents for Chanukah, I finish, pocketing Toby's gift again.

Sounds like a plan. And since you thought of it, I'm sure it will go horribly awry, Donna pecks me on the cheek. I'll take care of this stuff, you need to go or you'll be late.

***

It takes eight trips to carry everything upstairs when I get home, leaving me huffing and puffing on the couch. After I catch my breath, I call my mother-in-law, who says she'll see if she can find what I'm looking for.

With my plan for Josh's Christmas present underway, I decide to take a quiet moment to relax. I prop my swollen feet up on the coffee table, lean my head back against the couch cushion and close my eyes with a deep sigh, letting my mind drift back to what Josh told me last night.

As much as we communicate, as much tell each other what's bothering us, what we want for the future, very rarely do we open up about our pasts. He doesn't like to talk about his childhood. Since I walked into his office nearly six years ago, he's spoken about Joanie three times and his grandfather twice. Most of what I know, I learned from Elisa. She talked about their family history quite a bit the first few days after the shooting, when we sat together at his bedside. For Josh to open up and tell the stories he told last night is indicative of how much he loves and trusts me. 

It's the most valuable gift he has every given me and I'm not sure I can ever tell him how much I love him for it.

***

Donna's asleep on the sofa when David and I get home from temple. The opportunity to awaken her with a kiss is too good to pass up. David greets his mother in his own special way ­ he squeals loudly in her ear.

You're home, she mumbles, opening her eyes slowly.

Happy Chanukah, I reply before kissing her again. 

How did he do? Donna pats the sofa cushion, inviting me to sit down. 

Pretty good. There was a little crying, but we sat in the back and when he started fussing, I gave him the last bottle in the bag. David did far better than I expected him to. One of the main reasons I've been putting off taking him to temple is I didn't think he'd sit through the whole service without pitching a fit. The only thing missing tonight was Donna. You should come next time if you want to.

But I'm not Jewish and I don't plan on converting. We've talked about this, Donna protests, sitting up.

I go to church with your family and I'm not Lutheran, I point out, idly rubbing David's back. 

She sighs and relaxes. Good point. I'll think about it. How's that?

As good an answer as I could hope for, I smile, kissing her again. Where's the box from Mamme?

Donna points over her shoulder. Kitchen table.

Handing David to her, I get up and retrieve the box and the menorah setting on the table next to it. As usual, it contains our supply of Chanukah candles. I pull those out and smirk at the collection of presents my mother managed to cram in the box. In addition to the packages I know are my boxers and shoes, there are 8 gifts each for Donna and David. 

I pull two candles out and position the menorah in the middle of the coffee table.

It's really supposed to be displayed in a window, but ours don't have ledges, I explain as I slip one candle into the far right holder.

Wait a minute. Donna hands David back to me and gets to her feet. I want pictures.

***

When I emerge from the bedroom with my camera, Josh is sitting on the coffee table with David on his lap. I can hear him explaining something to Bear in a low voice.

This is the shamash. It's the helper candle. We light it first and then use it to light the other candles, he says, showing our son the candle he's talking about. He has to pull it away when David grabs it and tries to pull it into his mouth. You don't eat it, Bear.

Josh jumps at the sound of the shutter, but his surprise fades into a smile after he realizes what I'm doing. I snap several more as he lights the candles and recites a blessing in Hebrew with David gazing up at him. Even after he's put the shamash in its spot, Josh continues to sit on the coffee table and stare into the flickering lights. David turns to see what his daddy thinks is so mesmerizing and in that instant I swear I can see two older men standing behind them, one with his hand on Josh's shoulder and both of them looking on with pride.

The vision vanishes with the flash of my camera. 

***

There's something missing and I can't figure out what it is. Donna and I are sitting on the sofa watching the candles dance. David is asleep in his crib and the only sound is his faint snoring. I should be completely content, yet I'm not.

I have to know where your mother found those little boxer shorts. Donna holds up the little shorts and giggles. 

They are pretty cute, aren't they? I chuckle. He won't be able to wear them for another few months, but I didn't even know they made boxers for babies.

What was it you said when you lit the candles? she asks, changing the subject.

I have to think about it to translate the blessing into English. Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us and enabled us to reach this occasion. Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with his Commandments and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.

Do you say it every night?

The first part is only the first night, but the second part is said every night, I reply absently, unsettled by the absence of whatever is missing. 

I think it was very beautiful, Donna murmurs, her hand reaching out to massage my thigh.

Taking the hint, I lean in to kiss her, stopping just short of doing so. I think you're very beautiful.

Wordlessly, she closes the remaining distance. She tastes of latkes and applesauce and I'm sure I do as well. Our tongues swirl and dance until I pull away breathless.

Let's go to bed, Donna whispers as she nips at my jaw.

I repeat, nuzzling my nose against hers before getting to my feet and offering Donna my hands.

She keeps hold of them once she's on her feet, leading me to our bedroom before letting go to pull her sweater over her head. We shed our clothes silently, Donna finishing before me. She turns down the covers and crawls to the center, swaying Squarepants enticingly.

***

Tonight is my night to suffer the effects of insomnia. Donna is sound asleep in the aftermath of our lovemaking.

I brush a stray hair free from the corner of her mouth before getting up to check on David. He, too, is fast asleep. It was a big night for my little boy. Not only did he get boxer shorts from his Grandma Mamme, he got a dreidel from his Uncle Toby and a tiny baseball glove from Donna and me. Okay, mostly from me. When I found it the other day, I couldn't resist. I even got two, putting one away for next Chanukah.

I pour myself a drink from the bottle of scotch we keep around for Toby and retire to the living room to watch the candles in the menorah burn out.

The dreidel was left lying on the coffee table. It looks old, prompting me to pick it up and scrutinize it closer. I can tell by the faded symbols on the four sides, it has been well played with over the years. The one I had as a child was nearly identical. Mine was lost, though, in the fire that took Joanie's life. 

The scotch does nothing to erase the feeling something's missing. Something's not quite right.

***

_Thursday, December 24, 2003._

The President and First Lady bought David a two-foot long, cloth worm thing for Chanukah. Every time he touches a different section, it makes a different noise. We opened it last night and David hasn't let go of it since. Josh tried to take it away from him at bedtime, but he screamed bloody murder until he got it back.

It amuses him to no end to squeeze it and make the different noises. He also enjoys slobbering all over the cloth legs. I mention this because we've been at the farm for twenty minutes and it's already causing a ruckus.

Let me set the scene. We got here shortly before noon. Josh agreed to watch the kids while I unpacked and Pat ran into town to get some groceries on the condition he got time to shop for my Christmas present later in the afternoon.

When I went upstairs, he had Timmy and Kelly watching a movie in the living room and was feeding David lunch.

The sound of hysterical crying in two different pitches sends me rushing downstairs convinced Josh has lost all control of the situation.

Bear is sitting on the living room floor under the Christmas tree, red-faced and screaming, tears pouring down his face. Timmy is scrunched in the corner of the couch, clutching David's toy to his chest and yelling no' at the top of his lungs over and over again at Josh, who is attempting to rationally trade him for a different toy.

It isn't working.

Kelly sidles up to me, looking confused. Why doesn't Uncle Josh just take it away from Timmy? That's what Mommy does when he takes my toys.

I don't know if he heard her or not, but before I can reply, Josh does just that.

You do not take toys that aren't yours! he tells Timmy, causing a fresh round of tears. Go sit at the table in the kitchen.

Timmy shakes his head no so violently his whole body moves.

Timothy, I'm telling you one more time. Go sit at the table in the kitchen! Josh orders, standing over the recalcitrant three-year-old with his hands on his hips.

Josh drops the worm and grabs Timmy by his waist, picking him up and holding him at arm's length ­ a move that keeps him from getting kicked by flaying arms and legs.

I'm awed at no nonsense way Josh marches directly into the kitchen and plants Timmy in a chair.

Stay there! he orders sternly.

Kelly is clearly as impressed. Mommy gives him whatever he wants when he screams.

Josh retreats as far as the doorway, keeping an eagle eye on Tim, who is pitching quite the fit, but staying in the chair.

He motions me over.

How long are you going to keep him there? I ask.

Three minutes or so. Will you take David and the damn worm upstairs? Tim and I need to have a man to man talk before this weekend gets out of hand, Josh replies.

What happened?

When I finished feeding David we went in the living room and sat down on the floor. David starting playing with the worm and Timmy grabbed it away from him. Josh checks his crappy watch.

What are you going to do? I don't want him doing anything stupid. I can tell by the set of his jaw, he's fighting to control his temper.

I'm going to explain to Tim that he's a big boy now and big boys don't take other people's toys. And telling me no' is not acceptable.

I'm gaping. In fact, I'm pretty sure my jaw is on the floor.

Josh looks bewildered. Why do we subscribe to 3 different parenting magazines if you don't want me to actually read them?

When? When do you have time to read parenting magazines? I demand. I don't have time to read parenting magazines and my workload is half of Josh's.

You think I actually read all those damn reports I get sent?

***

Donna just shakes her head, collects David and his worm and herds Kelly upstairs. Timmy's three minutes are about up. He's stopped screaming and is just sobbing uncontrollably now.

Do you know why you're in time out? I squat down to his eye level.

I'm sorry, Unca Joss! he wails, throwing his arms around my neck and soaking my shirt with his tears. Don't go away! I won't do it again!

I'm not going away, I say, standing up and holding him tight against my chest.

It takes a longer than I expected for him to calm down enough for me to talk to him. The flush of aggravation I first felt at his misbehavior has dissipated; leaving behind the realization Timmy is overwhelming afraid of the people he loves leaving him. 

I can relate.

And I could kill Gerry for doing it to him.

I shift him on my hip so I can look him in the eye. Two things. First of all, when I tell you to do something, you do it. You do not tell me no. Understand?

Timmy bites his lower lip and looks ready to launch into another round of crying, but he nods nonetheless. I'm not entirely certain he really gets it. This is not unlike dealing with freshmen congressmen who think if they scream loud enough they'll get whatever they want.

Second, you're three now. You're a big boy and big boys don't take toys without asking. If you want to play with something David's playing with you ask Aunt Donna or me. Okay?

He sniffles, but nods before resting his head on my shoulder.

Okay, then. I run my hand over his hair.

***

After Pat came home from the store and Josh headed out on his annual Christmas Eve shopping trek, I put David down for a nap and started work on assembling my gift to Josh. Picking up the faded, black and white photograph Elisa sent me, it's plain to see where my husband gets his affinity for children. 

What I had asked my mother-in-law for was a picture of Josh and his sister at Chanukah. What she sent me was one from Chanukah 1962. Josh, just 11 months old, is perched on his grandfather's knee with Joanie standing next to them, watching as their dad lights the candles. It fits perfectly with the picture of Josh and I lighting the unity candle at our wedding and the one I took last week of Josh and David. 

Looking closer at the old black and white, the love Noah Lyman had for his children is plain as day in the way he's smiling and the familiar twinkle I think I can see in his eyes. I only spoke to Mr. Lyman on the phone a few times and I never met him. From the stories I've heard, though, I think he was much like the man Josh is today ­ dedicated to his work, but devoted to his family.

And Josh has claimed my family as his own. I can't help marveling at the way Timmy and Kelly respond to him ­ both as an overgrown playmate and as an authority figure. I'm sure some of it has to do with Gerry's abrupt departure. The process server managed to track him down and hand him the divorce papers, but Pat hasn't seen hide or hair of him since last March.

I slip the first photo into the frame and pick up the second. I barely remember our wedding ceremony. I remember how Josh's eyes sparkled in a way I'd never seen before and have only seen a couple times since. I saw it last Christmas when I told him I was pregnant and again when he handed me our son for the very first time. Most recently I saw it last Friday when he sat with David on his lap and lit the first candle on the menorah. 

With any luck, I'll get to see it tomorrow morning when we open gifts.

***

Last year, I went hunting for Donna's present knowing exactly what I wanted to get her. This year, I'm browsing through the shelves of the same bookstore ­ clueless. I want a book that will tell her what I am incapable of expressing well enough ­ how much I love her and how much she has changed my life for the better. 

I find it after three hours of searching. The guy behind the counter looks ready to throw me out when I finally approach the register. I've been mentally composing the note for a week, tweaking it and perfecting every word I'll etch on the first page.

With any luck, I'll get to see the same look of love on her face tomorrow I saw when I started this tradition with _The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing_.

***

I thought I understood Josh's view of holidays being about family and tradition. But it doesn't hit me how important it is to _me_ until we're sitting in church for the Christmas Eve midnight service. This is something my family has done as long as I can remember, but until this year, I could take it or leave it. There were no regrets the numerous Christmases I missed the past several years because it isn't the activity that matters to me.

It's family.

When I couldn't come home for Christmas, it was okay because I was with Josh and as long as we're together, all is right with the world.

Somewhere amid the congregation's off-key rendition of _Silent Night_, it dawns on me the reason Josh's mom remembers her parties with such happiness. They represent a point in her life when she stopped grieving for her lost daughter and started living again. Josh, on the other hand, prefers to honor the memories of his sister and grandfather by keeping their traditions alive.

I think I would be jealous of his focus on those traditions if he weren't sitting next to me in the pew tonight, with Kelly tucked under one arm and Timmy asleep in his lap while my mom sits on my other side holding David.

***

When we get home from church, I help Pat and Donna put the kids to bed and offer to play Santa for the first time in my life, arranging gifts under Pat's enormous Christmas tree so she and Donna can go to bed. 

The twinkling blue lights flash against the silver of the menorah I set up earlier in the evening. The candles are on their last legs, the intermittent flickers mixing mystically with the tree lights to fight back the darkness of the room. It's incredibly beautiful.

Once the gifts are in place, I head upstairs and suddenly notice the vague feeling of unease I've been experiencing all week is gone.

Reaching our bedroom, I'm at a loss as to why I'm at peace here versus in Washington.

Done already? Donna murmurs, sighing with contentment when I wrap my arms around her.

I ate the cheese and drank the milk and left the plate out. I wasn't supposed leave reindeer tracks anywhere did I? I double-check the list of things I was told to do.

No reindeer tracks, she confirms, her body shaking with repressed laughter.

What's so funny? I ask, snuggling even closer to her.

***

When Pat and I were little, one year we refused to go to sleep. Dad climbed up on the roof to make a sound like Santa's sleigh landing, except he fell off the roof and broke his arm, I answer, thinking back to Christmas when I was little.

I have always been a big fan of the Christmas season. Not so much in a celebrate the birth of baby Jesus' way, but in a peace, joy and love' kind of way.

My memories are full of pouring over the Sears and J.C. Penney catalogs after Thanksgiving dinner, meticulously compiling lists of toys I was certain I could not make it through the next year without. My sister and I had to put our initials by the things we wanted to ensure we weren't asking for the same thing.

Josh's breath is warm and ticklish against the back of my neck as he laughs at my recollection of how Pat and I literally ripped the Wishbook in half one year fighting over which of us would get to put a Cabbage Patch Kid on our list.

The thing was like a thousand pages thick! I exclaim in mock indignation. Dad couldn't believe we'd actually torn it in two.

The best part was when Mom and Dad used to take us to the mall to shop for them. Dad never knew what to get Mom, so Pat and I helped him, I continue. One year, we picked out this really pretty pearl necklace and matching earrings. We thought it was the perfect gift. I think I was like six or seven and pearl earrings and a matching necklace was the epitome of what a real lady would wear. I remember she cried when she opened it. All she could say was it was exactly what she wanted.

***

Donna stifles a sniffle of her own, prompting me to tighten my hold on her reassuringly. This is the Donna I love so much. The woman who puts such care and effort into selecting the perfect gift for someone she loves.

We're both half-asleep by the time she starts her story again.

The second Saturday after Thanksgiving was always the day we'd go to the tree lot and get our tree. Mom and Pat stayed home to clear out the space while Dad and I picked out the tree. I think I saw the Charlie Brown Christmas special a few too many times, because I always wanted to bring home the most pathetic looking tree on the lot and Dad always wanted the one that was like 22 feet tall. We would compromise every year and wind up with the perfect tree every time

Donna trails off and falls asleep mid-story, but with a flash of insight, I realize she left me with the answer to both of the questions nagging me.

Downstairs in the living room is a tree and a menorah, an amalgam of our two faiths, a compromise to celebrate the aspects of the holiday that are most important to us.

In our apartment in Washington, there is nothing of Donna.

Our marriage is built on a solid foundation of compromises and the absence of something of hers was causing the niggling feeling I couldn't shake.

Content with the realization, I sink deeper into the covers and resolve next year we'll have a tree with twinkling blue lights that dance off the polished silver of the menorah. The way Donna's light dances off of me.

***

Santa came! Aunt Donna! Santa came! 

Oh, God.

Kelly, at least I think it's Kelly, just launched herself onto the middle of the bed. Judging by where I'm laying, that means she landed right on top of Josh.

Josh groans in complaint. 

Sorry, Uncle Josh, she says, not sounding at all contrite.

Get up, Unca Joss!

I open my eyes and sit up, grateful I wore pajamas to bed for once. Timmy's in the doorway, so excited his whole body is wiggling. Kelly is kneeling between Josh and I, staring at us expectantly.

Are Grandma and Grandpa here yet? I ask, hoping to buy a little time to wake up.

Kelly answers, the drop in her excitement is miniscule.

Get up, Unca Joss! Santa came! Timmy yells, having rushed to the side of the bed when Josh failed to stir.

Is your mom up? Josh mumbles without opening his eyes.

the kids chorus. Kelly at least has the decency to sound guilty over waking us first.

Josh pulls his head out from under the comforter to see the clock. 6:30. In the morning.

Oh God, he moans under his breath before giving our niece and nephew the once over. Go wake up your mother.

He meets my eyes once the kids have scampered full bore out of the room. 

If we have to suffer, so does she. His rationalization sends me into convulsions of laughter.

Must pee! I finally gasp, bolting from bed as fast as I can.

Josh has David up and is changing him when I return from the bathroom.

Pat is not happy, I report, having heard her telling Kelly and Timmy to go back to bed or Santa would come back and take their presents away.

What time are your parents coming over? Josh asks distractedly. He's trying to get David into a pair of overalls and Bear is apparently not interested in wearing clothes.

Soon, I hope, I reply. But probably not until the sun rises.

***

The sun doesn't rise soon enough. Deb, Paul and Fred arrive as we're finishing breakfast ­ a sticky mess of pancakes and eggs. Their arrival leads to almost thirty minutes of screaming, cooing and getting settled in the living room before the real fun begins.

Kelly is in charge of passing out the gifts this year. She started kindergarten this fall and is as eager to impress us all with being able to read our names almost as much as she is excited about it being Christmas morning.

Uncle Josh? she asks, crawling over to where I'm sitting on the floor at Donna's feet with David in my lap, package in tow.

Yes, sweetie?

Who's this? She points at the name on the tag.

Read the letters, Pat prompts.

Kelly squints and nearly puts her nose on the package. I can't read it.

I supply the next letter, cutting her a break because the writing is in cursive.

She sets her jaw and continues to contemplate the tag. I D! David!

Very good! Donna cheers.

The process goes a little faster after Kelly quickly picks up what all of our names look like. 

Who goes first? Paul asks with eggnog-induced cheer. I'm pretty sure the ratio of rum to eggnog in his mug is better than 50-50.

Timmy squeals.

Pat leans down and keeps him from grabbing at the largest gift in his pile. You aren't the youngest anymore. David goes first now.

He looks all set to throw a tantrum over it until Donna intervenes. Why don't you help David open his present?

With Timmy and my help, David rips the paper off the gift from his grandparents to reveal a set of building blocks large enough he can't eat them. 

Me turn? Tim looks around the room with his huge blue eyes. 

Your turn, Deb agrees.

Who dis from? He holds up the odd-shaped package from Donna and I.

Kelly answers, shaking her head at how dumb her little brother can be.

He tears the wrapping off to find the Nerf football that was at the top of the list we got from him a few weeks ago.

The cycle continues around the room until everyone is out of gifts except Donna and I. As usual, we saved our gifts from each other until the end. 

Donna nods her head, indicating I should go first.

Slitting the tape carefully, I see the back of a picture frame. I flip it over and discover the single frame contains three matted, black and white photos. For the second Christmas in a row, my wife as rendered me speechless. I've never seen the photo on the far left. I presume the baby on my grandfather's knee is me, because Joanie is standing next to us. All three of us are watching Dad light the menorah candles. Mamme must have taken the picture. The middle one is of Donna and I at our wedding and the last one Donna took last week of David and I. Across the bottom are the words Love must be as much a light as a flame ­ Henry David Thoreau' in distinctive penmanship.

***

Josh runs his fingers over the first picture before looking up at me with that look of unadulterated happiness on his face, mixed with a tinge of nostalgia. There's something nearly indecipherable in his smile, as well.

I know my package contains a book, but the real gift is the inscription inside it. This year is no exception and I understand the message behind Josh's smile.

_Donnatella:_

New Candle-Making Techniques might seem an odd choice, but I mean it to represent the light, the hope you bring into my life every single day. My world was dark for a very long time. When I first met you, you brought a spark into the darkness. The spark became an ember and the ember a flame and the flame brought light to a tiny seed of happiness. I nurtured it alone for the longest time, but it couldn't break free from the bonds of the past. You fanned the little flame into a fire, though, and the tiny seed started to grow until it bloomed into the love I have for you and our family. I fail every day to tell you how much I love you for that. You've given me everything I ever dreamed of and I can only hope I do the same. 

All my love,

_Joshua. _


	40. Professional Ethics

Where did he find her?Can you believe her?Can you believe _him_?

The hum of disapproval washes through the assembled staff like a wave. It doesn't take long before it sweeps over me, causing me to crane my neck to catch a glimpse of the object of everyone's curiosity.

I thought Josh was responsible for finding him someone, Bonnie hisses, sidling up to me with Ginger right behind.

Shaking her head, Ginger doesn't finish the sentence.

She' is Sam's date to the post-State of the Union reception. I'm not sure where he met her, but I presume based on his track record, it was either the gym or the bar of one of DC's swankier hotels.

The only thought I spare her is to hope she isn't a call girl. Beyond that, I don't care tonight. I've just finished riding herd on the President's guests. My back hurts, my ankles are swollen, the cub is kicking up a storm and I just want to go home.

Josh can't get back from the polling center soon enough.

Sam's speech was spectacular. Joey won't have the finalized data to me for a couple of days and it'll take me the rest of the week to compile it with the real-time response data we got. Then I'll boil everything down to easy to understand, meaningful numbers CJ can announce in her briefing on Monday. And to think I once thought the study of statistics was useless in the real world.

Anyway, it's going to be a long week as we refine the agenda for the rest of the year.

The buzz coming from the room where the reception is being held snaps me out of my reverie. Before I can find out what's going on, Toby intercepts me in the hallway.

Hey, the speech was great! I congratulate him, knowing he put as much effort into fine-tuning the speech as Sam did. The real time reaction to job creation wasCome with me, growls Toby before I can finish telling him about the numbers.

What's up? I ask, unnerved at the way he just grabbed my arm and hustled me fifteen feet away from the door.

Remember last year at the Inaugural?When I got sent to London six weeks before my wedding? I remember being furious with Leo. Come to think of it, a year later, I'm still pissed at Leo about it.

Not that one, the first one.The first one? I repeat, slightly confused for a moment. Oh, yeah! The DNC theme ball. What about it?Remember Sam's date?Rachelle, the gym queen? I smirk, recalling the furor she caused among the Senior Assistants. My face falls when it hits me. I promised them I'd work on finding Sam a suitable girlfriend. Something I've neglected over the past year. Not that I haven't had other things to do over the past year. You know, getting married and having a kid and all.

Toby clearly reads my mind. And apparently his taste hasn't improved.Oh God. It comes out as a groan.

Bonnie's on the warpath and she's after your scalp, advises Toby. He lets go of my arm and returns to the reception.

There's no way I can get out of this, but with luck I can keep my appearance short. It's nearly midnight and we promised our babysitter we'd pick David up by one o'clock. Donna's back has been bothering her lately too, so she'll probably want to go sooner rather than later.

If I'm lucky.

If I'm not lucky, the Senior Assistants, in league with my wife, will be laying in wait for me inside the door and I'll be forced to conjure up a suitable date for Sam on the spot.

The problems with finding an girlfriend for Sam are numerous and go back to when I was the floor manager for the House Democratic Whip, a congressman so thoroughly unremarkable that I've forgotten his first name. His last name, however, was Grootveld and he was from Southern California. One of his interns the first summer I was there was a young man named Samuel Norman Seaborn, whose father was a major league fundraiser for the Congressman. Sam spent the summer between his first and second year of law school learning the ins and outs of changing toner cartridges in the congressional copy machines. Mostly because the secretaries, and in 1988 they were still secretaries, liked to stare at his ass when he was bent over.

Just a couple of weeks into his internship, Sam wound up living in my apartment because his original roommates were too well slovenly. Which is not to say I wasn't, but I was Sam's boss and he wasn't about to tell me to pick up my boxer shorts when I was saving him from moving into the YMCA.

Most of the female staffers around the Longworth Building made a play for the handsome yet painfully shy young man and he had refused them all. By the time July 4th rolled around, I was nearly certain my new friend was as queer as a three dollar bill. Until I came home from a party that night, having successfully picked up a willing brunette, and found Sam already there, in the company of a statuesque blonde. The night ended up being a sexual escapade right out of one of those jittery, out of focus, stag films we occasionally watched after-hours in the Crimson office. It was the one and only multiple partner experience of my life and the basis for Sam briefly thinking I might be gay a couple of years ago. It was when I also realized Sam has a very specific taste in women.

Or at least thinks he does.

I once thought I did, too. Short, forceful, opinionated brunettes were my speed until I met Donna. It wasn't long before my type was a tall, enchanting blonde with a quick wit and an infectious sense of humor. It took me 36 years to find my own soul-mate and I'm supposed to find Sam's in a year?

Hey, Donna! Sam bounces up to me, his date in tow.

This is the first time I've managed to get a good look at her since they arrived and it's self-evident what most of the fuss is about. She's young. Even younger than I was when I talked my way into running Josh's office in New Hampshire.

The speech was great. I give him a sidewise hug to accommodate my protruding stomach.

Sam blushes, as he always does when I praise his writing, and then gestures toward his date. This is Maria. Maria, this is Donna Lyman. She's the What is your title now?I'm the Deputy Assistant to the Chief of Staff, I rattle off the title and offer my hand to the young woman, unsurprised to find hers is clammy and trembling.

Maria is a research assistant with a local legal clinic. She helped me with the HIV/AIDS initiative section of the speech, gushes Sam. He's clearly smitten with the young woman.

It's very nice to meet you, I smile at her.

Maria returns it nervously, but doesn't say anything. She self-consciously tugs at the tight, clingy fabric of her dress and looks down at the floor. She really doesn't look like anyone Sam has ever dated. Outside of his brief infatuation with Mallory O'Brien, Sam has favored blondes with enough attitude to keep him in his place. I used to believe the only difference between the women Sam and Josh dated was the color of their hair and often thought the only reason Sam never hit on me during the first campaign was because Toby wouldn't let him stop writing long enough.

Can I? With you? Sam jerks his head to one side, drawing me a few feet away from Maria without waiting for an answer.

Would you keep her company for a few minutes? he pleads in response to my raised, questioning eyebrow. I've got to return a call from Senator Hunt and she doesn't know anybody and I sigh. But hurry, Josh is due back any minute and we're going home once he gets here.You're a life-saver, Sam grins, bouncing back to Maria and quickly explaining the situation.

The way he casts a quick glance around to see who's looking before giving her a quick peck on the lips reminds me of Josh's reticence at public displays of affection when we first started dating.

Is something wrong? Maria asks, giving me a curious look.

I tear my eyes from Sam's departing back and return my attention to Maria. Not at all. Why?He just seemed in a big hurry to get out of here. I think I'm embarrassing him, she admits softly. The expression on her face is equal parts humiliation and defiance.

I shake my head with a small chuckle. I mean, yes, he's in a hurry, but he's got a senator waiting on his phone call. It doesn't have anything to do with you.Because I have ears, she continues bitterly. I can hear what everyone is saying.I'm sure you can, I nod, knowing exactly how she feels. Try not to take it too personally. Once people get to know you, they'll base their opinions on you and not on Sam's track record in dating. Which to be completely honest, is less than stellar.How long have you known Sam? Maria asks.

About six years. He and my husband have known each other for twenty years though, so it seems like longer sometimes. Speaking of my husband, I reply, catching a glimpse of his brown curls bobbing through the crowd. Sticking my arm in the air to catch his attention, I call his name.

Before I can respond to Donna's beckoning call, someone else wanting my attention sidetracks me.

Josh Lyman, right? the man verifies, sticking out his hand.

I shake it absently, unsure who he is or what he wants.

F. Philip Rogers, he introduces himself. The use of his first initial and middle name immediately ups his slime factor. I'm with the American HMO Alliance and I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time.

While his name doesn't ring a bell, his organization does. The American HMO Alliance is currently lobbying Congress to maintain HMOs' immunity from lawsuits by the people enrolled in them. An extension rider got tacked onto the Aid for Families with Dependent Children appropriations bill last month and Donna has been working feverishly to get it removed. I wonder in passing what this guy is doing at the President's State of the Union reception.

You can call my office in the morning and make an appointment, I reply, matching the insincere smile on his face and starting toward Donna again.

Actually, Mr. Lyman, I was hoping to talk to you off the record, so to speak, he says, stopping me by placing his hand on my chest. Your wife needs let this rider go through and the President needs to sign the AFDC bill. If that happens, the American HMO Alliance would be well positioned to support you down the road. If it doesn't I'm sure we can find any number of people who will make your life difficult when the time comes. Like in 2006?Are you threatening me, Mr. Rogers? I growl, keeping my voice low so we aren't overheard. Or are you trying to bribe me with contributions to a campaign that doesn't exist?

Rogers gives me a self-satisfied smirk. Take it for what you will, Mr. Lyman.

Before I can respond, he melts into the crowd, leaving me stunned at his audacity. Before I can recover from F. Philip Rogers, Bonnie accosts me.

You've got a problem, she states. Toby was wrong, Bonnie isn't not happy,' Bonnie is livid. You promised you'd find him someone, Josh.What's the matter with her? I ask wearily.

It's just We think I mean, the consensus is he can't the Senior Communications Assistant stammers before she finishes lamely. She's not appropriate.You just think his taste is questionable. I could set him up with the same woman and you'd be fine with her as long as Sam didn't pick her out, I surmise.

Bonnie purses her lips together and frowns. Do you blame us?Not particularly, I shake my head remembering Laurie. As nice a woman as I'm sure she might have been, there was no escaping how she chose to put herself through law school. Which wouldn't have been an issue if Sam wasn't a senior advisor to the President of the United States. Not that I have any room to talk, I chastise myself. My mouth has run away with me more times than I care to think about.

Fortunately, Donna has helped cure my tendency to speak before I think.

I've always considered myself an easy to talk to person with enough social skills to maintain a conversation with just about anyone.

Apparently, I've been deluding myself. Every question I ask Maria, while waiting for Josh, is met with a terse yes or no or as brief an answer as she can politely give. I've resorted to babbling about Sam's antics during both of the campaigns.

Bonnie's pissed at me, Josh announces, interrupting whatever vapid story I was telling. He continues before I can introduce Sam's date to him. Sam's dating someone completely unacceptable and somehow it's my fault? I hiss, smacking him upside the head at his uncouth comment.

The object of his remark stifles her gasp by clamping her hand over her mouth and then bolts to the door. Direct confirmation of what everyone has been saying behind her back is clearly more than she can take.

Who was that? asks Josh blithely as he grabs a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

Sam's date, I snarl, smacking him upside the head again before leaving him standing in my wake, gaping.

Donna manages to catch the young woman at the intersection of two major hallways where she's casting confused glances each direction, unsure of which way to go.

Let me walk to you to Sam's office and apologize for my idiot, tactless, moronic husband, I hear Donna suggest as I skid to a stop on the marble floor.

Actually, why doesn't your idiot, tactless, moronic husband apologize for himself, I pipe up, earning myself another smack to the back of the head from Donna.

Sam's date straightens up and fixes me with an angry, yet proud, glare. It is not necessary for you to apologize. I know what everyone thought of me.Not you as a person, but well, I stammer, attempting to explain. Sam doesn't have the greatest track record with women and several people judged you, incorrectly apparently, based on his previous tramps.Are you insinuating Laurie was a tramp? Donna turns to me with her hands on her hips. I'm not sure if she's trying to help me or not, but her opinion of Sam's dating habits is in line with everyone else's, so it's pretty rich for her to argue the point.

Donna! Laurie was a prostitute and Mallory was the boss's daughter; Ainsley Hayes was a Republican and you can't tell me you actually liked Rachelle! I fire back, ticking off examples of Sam's questionable dating history. Pardon me for being shocked he actually asked a nice, normal woman out on a date! Especially since last year you told me he wasn't allowed to pick his own dates anymore!

Sam's date looks horrified.

He dated a prostitute? she asks, preempting Donna's retort, her face taking on a look not dissimilar to the one Donna wears when I've done something exceptionally stupid.

Laurie was a law student, explains Donna.

Laurie was putting herself through law school by working as a call girl, I clarify. Can we start over, by the way?As long as we're clear on the fact I'm not a prostitute, Sam's date agrees icily.

Crystal clear, I nod, putting out my hand. I'm Josh Lyman. I understand you've met my wife, Donna, already.I'm Maria Gonzalez, she replies, her tone warming somewhat.

Please allow me apologize for what I said earlier. Clearly, I was misinformed and despite Donna's best efforts, I sometimes speak before I have all the facts.

I can't help snorting at Josh's description of his tendency to stick his foot in his mouth. At least he's learned the benefits of apologizing expediently. Fruit baskets are a last resort these days.

Maria seems to accept Josh's apology, but the conversation falls flat and she starts glancing between the two of us and down the hall toward the ballroom. It's self-evident to me she doesn't want to return to the reception.

Why don't I walk you down to Sam's office, I offer in an effort to mitigate the awkwardness. Josh, you can go pick up David.

Josh continues to look suitably chagrined. Sure. Maria, it was nice to meet you and I really am sorry about, you know, what I implied.I understand. It has been an enlightening evening, the young woman says.

The two of us head down the hall toward the West Wing proper. The trip is short and quiet. Neither of us speak until I usher her into the Communications bullpen. Sam must have just wrapped up with Senator Hunt, because he nearly runs into us dashing out of his office.

Oh, hey! I was just on my way back. Sam's bright smile fades marginally when he sees the expression on Maria's face. Is something wrong?

She opens her mouth to reply and then closes it wordlessly, leaving it to me to explain the situation.

Josh and I are heading home and Maria didn't want to be alone at the reception, I stretch the truth ever so slightly.

Sam replies nonplussed. I, umIt is pretty late, Maria picks up the ball. And I have to work in the morning. I think I'm ready to go too.I can't leave yet. Sam looks stricken and his simple words remind me of the protocol to which by which he is bound tonight.

Now, Josh and I can execute this minor breach of social etiquette and get away with it by saying we need to get David home. Sam, on the other hand, has to stay at the reception until the President makes his appearance and says glowing things about the speech Sam spent untold hours crafting.

Why not? his date asks in confusion.

The President isn't back yet, Sam and I answer together. I let Sam continue. I can't leave until he shows up at the reception.

The pathway leading to the Residence is dotted with Secret Service agents still clad in their uniformly black wool overcoats, a sure sign the President has returned from the Capitol. I probably ought to take the time to brief him on the numbers we're looking at, but I don't want them to leak and there is any number of overly talkative members of the Party leadership with President Bartlet right now.

Besides, I can hear the sound of my son screaming his head off filtering through the corridors and he's my priority. It's simple enough to follow his crying to the Presidential kitchen. I hope he hasn't been fussing all night. He's a handful for Donna and I to deal with in this state, I doubt Ellie Bartlet has much experience with an inconsolable baby.

I push the kitchen door open to find Ellie pacing back and forth, trying to quiet David.

It's okay, sweetie. See? Here's Daddy, she tells him, crossing the kitchen in two strides and thrusting my bawling child at me. He woke up about ten minutes ago and was not happy to see me. Otherwise, he was pretty good all night.

The incessant squalling eased as soon as he saw me, but David continues to cry, scrunching up his red, tear-soaked face and rubbing it back and forth against my shoulder.

Thank you for watching him, I tell the Bartlets' middle daughter over the noise. I'm sorry he got like this on you.

Ellie smiles shyly and zips shut the diaper bag. It's okay. I used to watch Annie all the time when Liz went to Dad's events. I'll take a screaming baby over a public appearance any day.

She drapes the bag over my shoulder and pats me on the back on my way out the door.

Maria and I wait patiently for Josh in my office. It was clear she had no intention of returning to the reception, even with Sam, so I offered her a ride home. She tried to refuse at first, saying she'd catch a cab, but relented when she realized she only had $10 in her purse.

Fortunately, it isn't long before Josh appears, trying to comfort David as he wends his way through the bullpen.

Overtired, I think, Josh answers my unspoken question. Ellie said he woke up crying about fifteen minutes ago, but he was okay most of the night.He's drooling an awful lot, I note with a frown. Drooling is one of the first signs of teething and I'm not looking forward to teething.

Are we ready? Josh changes the subject. He clearly wants to get home. He's got a long week ahead of him and tonight is his only chance at four uninterrupted hours of sleep.

Sam couldn't leave, so we're giving Maria a ride home, I explain, leading the way to the parking lot.

Josh just nods in understanding and slips into the backseat with David, struggling to get Bear's flailing arms and legs strapped into the car seat. Once he succeeds, the motion of the car quickly lulls David to sleep, leaving only NPR's dissection of the State of the Union speech and Maria's whispered directions to break the silence.

It's nearly one o'clock by the time we get home. David stays asleep through the removal from the car seat and the trip upstairs. Ellie, bless her heart, put him in his pajamas at some point tonight, which saves me the aggravation of changing his clothes.

I put him down and make sure the baby monitor is on before going to make sure the one in the master bedroom is on as well and that it's on my side of the bed. I'm on duty for the next couple of nights.

Is he still out? Donna calls softly. She's in our bathroom scrubbing her face.

Yeah. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll stay that way, I reply from the walk-in closet where I'm undressing.

When Donna speaks again, her voice is much closer. He did good tonight. How much of it do you think we'll be able to push through?I don't know, I sigh, turning around to face her. I have to stretch over her stomach to kiss her. Sometimes I wish I was the idealist, not the guy who has to I don't know bastardize everything to get it passed.If you were the idealist, who would Sam be? Donna points out, caressing the stubble starting to show on my cheek with her thumb.

How's your back? I ask, changing the subject and ceding the point.

She gives me with a pathetic pout that says more than her words. Sore and my feet are all swollen.Let's go to bed and I'll see what I can do.

Josh has this back massage thing down to a fine science. His strong fingers and talented thumbs exert the perfect amount of pressure in just the right places to release the tension in my lower back.

When the more stubborn knots finally give way, his touch becomes something more erotic. He strokes the full length of my back with a light, feathery touch. I moan in appreciation when his lips touch my neck. He takes his time, kissing his way across my shoulder as his fingers work their way up and down the sensitive skin of my side until he's tracing the fine white lines pregnancy has left on my lower abdomen. I'm ticklish there and reach down to guide him to a better spot.

His lips form a smirk as they brush my upper arm, but he obliges. He leisurely touches my inner thigh and caresses the skin of my hip. I can feel the heat of his erection pressing against my leg and his excitement arouses me that much more. I never thought I could feel so desirous while being this pregnant, but Josh manages to convince me I am on a regular basis.

He tucks his head under my arm to lick and nip at the side of my breast and leaves a small hickey near my nipple. His tongue then licks at the underside of my breast before he blows lightly across the wetness, raising goosebumps and sending shivers through my body.

So, Maria seemed pretty nice, Josh says out of the blue, taking his hand from between my legs and running it over the taut skin of my stomach, stopping at my belly button.

My body freezes at sound of her name, no longer tingling under his ministrations. Did you just mention another woman while we're making love?I said she seemed nice. For Sam, Josh stammers, realizing his error. I didn't mean anything other than she seemed nice. A lot nicer than anyone he's dated before, other than Mallory.

I cannot believe he would bring up Sam's date while making love to me! The arousal I was feeling drains away, leaving me feeling cold and unattractive. A complete 180 from two minutes ago. I pull away from Josh and yank the comforter over my shoulder, ending our evening activities.

Josh pleads. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm sorry

His platitudes are quickly drowned out by the sound of David whimpering over the baby monitor.

Without another word, Josh clambers out of bed and pads across the floor, closing the door on his way out.

What the hell is the matter with me? I know Josh would never look at another woman. I know he was just making small talk like we do sometimes during foreplay. Swiping at my tears, I hear his voice crackle over the baby monitor he inadvertently left on.

What's the matter, Bear? he coos. In my mind's eye, I can see him lifting David out of the crib.

It's okay From the way David's cries fade away intermittently, I know Josh is pacing the nursery, trying to calm our son with motion. Daddy's an idiot, did you know that? Yeah, you probably already did. Renewed wailing cuts Josh's self-examination short. It's okay What's the matter, son?

The tenderness in his voice, mixed with remorse has me teary for a whole different reason than I was before. I don't get to eavesdrop on any more of the conversation. The change in the creaking of the floorboards indicates Josh is now wandering through the living room and his talk with David is drown out by the sound of the heat kicking on.

Daddy's having quite the night, little Bear, I murmur, keeping my end of the conversation going while David bawls and rubs his face against my bare shoulder. I noticed a bit of a rash near his chin when I picked him up and he's probably trying to scratch it.

It all started out okay, the numbers from Grandpa Jed's speech were good. Then a lobbyist who's trying to buy my influence with Grandpa Jed on the HMO rider your mommy's working on accosted me. I made an ass of myself in front of Uncle Sam's new lady friend, then I went and mentioned her while Mommy and I were well, doing something I'll explain to you when you're a little older. Mommy didn't like that very much and then you started to cry I ramble on, explaining the difficulties of anticipating his mother's mood swings at this point in her pregnancy.

My mind is tossing around an entirely different problem as I make slow laps around the living room, jostling David against my shoulder and rubbing his back. F. Philip Rogers is actually going to turn into the biggest issue from this evening. I can't even mention him to Donna for fear of tainting her efforts to derail the HMO rider. My yet-to-be launched Senate bid took a huge hit tonight. I'll either wind up being accused of influence peddling or end up in a nasty, mud-slinging primary fight I probably won't survive. I say that realistically. F. Philip Roger's name finally clicked with me and I know for a fact he wouldn't hesitate to destroy my aspirations before they even begin. He did the exact same thing to a retiring congressman whose son was running for his seat. The kid never made it out of the primary. He drowned in the accusations and insinuations.

I'll talk to Leo about it in the morning because, more immediately, I won't survive this week if I don't get some sleep. Shoving the HMO rider out of my mind, I concentrate on trying to stop David's crying. I run down the laundry list of typical problems: his diaper is clean, he isn't hungry and he has my undivided attention. None of the typical solutions are working either: not pacing, not rocking, not talking, not a story. I even tried singing and while he did stop for a minute and looked at me in amazement, it didn't last.

If it weren't 3 o'clock in the morning, I'd consult Donna. She needs her rest, though. Her blood pressure was up at her last OB visit and between Dr. Williams and Janet, the midwife Donna picked, she was told if it didn't come down they were going to put her on bed rest.

The only person I can think of to call at this hour is my mother. She won't be thrilled, but she'll be more understanding than Donna's parents.

I pray I don't have the wrong number when a low, scratchy voice answers the phone.

She sounds much more awake. Is something wrong?I can't get David to stop crying, Mamme. Donna's asleep and I don't want to wake her and he's been fussy since we picked him up from the sitterJoshua, calm down, my mother says in a tone of voice I know better than to argue with. God, when will it be that easy for me?

I take a deep breath, knowing she's waiting to hear me exhale before she continues.

I sigh, breathing deeply again.

Okay. Now, David. Is he running a fever?No, but he's drooling a lot and has a rash on his chin. He keeps batting at his mouth, but he's not hungry, I explain, truly clueless about his behavior.

Mamme chuckles. Are his gums swollen? His gums?

Stick your finger in his mouth and feel his bottom gum. Is it kind of puffy or can you feel something hard just under the surface? she instructs.

I do as she tells me and nod to myself when I feel what she described. Yeah, both.He's teething, Joshua. Go to the drugstore and get some Orajel. Donna will know what else to do in the morning, she yawns. How is she, by the way?Better, I think, aside from the hormones.You deserve it, Mamme replies, unsympathetically. Good night, Joshua.

I have no idea how long Josh was up with David. The last time I remember looking at the clock was about 2:30 and I could still hear David crying. However long it was, they both must have just dropped wherever they were, because Josh isn't in bed with me and David isn't in his crib.

There's a CVS Pharmacy sack on the table along with discarded Baby Orajel packaging and some unidentifiable plastic wrapping. The Orajel indicates all the drooling and crying last night is what I thought it was. David's teething.

I put the coffee on and then wander into the living room. I find them asleep on the couch, David resting comfortably on Josh's chest. I'm loathe to disturb them, but Josh needs to get up and get moving. My picking David up wakens them both.

What time is it? Josh mumbles, trying to pry his eyelids apart.

Late. Almost 5:30. You need to get in the shower and get moving. Staff is at seven and you've got to get the numbers together from last night. I'll take care of David this morning. I pick up the container of Orajel and check the instructions.

I got one of those teething ring things, too, yawns Josh as he pries himself off the couch and stretches. I can hear his back popping. It's in the freezer. He ended up crashing almost as soon as I put the stuff on his gums.

Josh heads to the shower and I take David into the nursery to change his diaper and get him dressed. When that's accomplished, I haul him into the kitchen and plop him down in his high chair. My mother sent us a supply of huge bibs when we started him on solids. I grab one and wrap one around his neck.

Every attempt at getting some cereal down him is met with the same tight-lipped refusal. He's wearing more then he's eaten when Josh appears, nattily dressed in his blue suit.

He likes it when you make train noises, he volunteers as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

Train noises? I repeat in disbelief. I've never had to any kind of noises to get David to eat before. Eating is one of his favorite activities with me.

It's a new thing. Started yesterday, Josh shrugs, sipping the decaf. He makes a face and promptly dumps the coffee down the drain.

You could have warned me, he gripes over David's giggling.

And deprive our son of your ridiculous antics? I smirk.

Just remember, Donnatella. He saunters over to give me a quick kiss. Train noises. Be a good boy, Bear.

Ruffling David's hair, he returns my smirk on his way out the door, leaving me with a teething six-month-old who refuses to eat and an unborn child doing a tap dance on my bladder.

It's going to be a long day.

What the hell did you say to her?! Sam demands, bursting into my office while I'm still taking my coat off.

It was a long night last night and I'm not in the mood to deal with a wound up Sam Seaborn.

What did I say to who? I reply wearily. I'm pretty sure what he's referring to, but I already apologized to his date for being crass and insensitive and she accepted, so he's got no right to be this bent out of shape.

Maria! She left before I did last night and when I called her, she asked me if I thought she was a prostitute! Sam screeches.

Before I knew she was your date, I may have inadvertently referred to her as unacceptable. In front of her. Sam rears back to rip my head off, so I continue hurriedly. And as soon as I knew she was your date, I apologized. Then I had to explain to her why nobody you introduced her to liked her, which meant I had to tell her about Laurie.You had to tell her about Laurie? he scoffs derisively.

I sigh and lean against the edge of my desk. Sam's my best friend and it falls to me to have this conversation with him.

Do you realize what people around here think of your dating habits? How they make judgments about the woman you're with based on the women you've been with? Your track record is horrible, Sam. Since we took office there was Laurie, the call girl; Mallory, the boss's daughter; Ainsley, the Republican and Rachelle, the ditz. Just to name a few. Yes! People jump to premature conclusions about the women you date. And don't get huffy with me. You used to do the same thing to me before Donna and I got together, I finish, watching as Sam deflates before my eyes.

He's silent for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth as he considers and discards various retorts. I take the opportunity to gather my stuff together for Staff.

Let's talk about this later, I say, ushering him toward the door. We're a minute from being late to the Senior Staff meeting.

The raw numbers are greeted with a great deal of enthusiasm. Toby wants to start mapping out a Communications strategy to keep the popular stuff in the media and to talk about how we're going to accomplish everything. I nearly forget I wanted to talk to Leo until we're wrapping up and he asks about Donna's progress on the HMO rider.

She's working every angle, I tell him.

The President puts down his briefing folder and takes off his glasses, looking at me sternly. We want it off this bill, Josh. I'm willing to discuss it, but I won't have it rammed down my throat by having it attached to a bill I have to sign.Yes, sir, I reply.

Finish the numbers analysis. I want to know by tomorrow morning which proposals have the highest voter support and which are most likely to get through Congress, Leo instructs. He surveys the rest of the group. Anything else? No? Good. Get to work.

The abrupt dismissal and the expression on his face tells me now is not the time to talk to Leo about anything.

The doors to Josh's office are closed when I get in around 8 o'clock. Staff must have gone short because I can hear him shuffling around inside. I have fifteen minutes before I have to leave for a meeting with a couple of representatives. Just enough time to admit I overreacted last night and get his advice on how to sway these two congressmen to our side.

Knocking once to avoid startling him, I enter his office quietly and wait for him to look up.

The train noises worked. I give him a small, apologetic smile when he looks up.

His lips twitch into a smile that mirrors mine, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Are you okay? I ask.

I'm just tired and there's It might be nothing, but it might be something and he trails off, gesturing toward the stacks of data on his desk. I'm just tired and busy.

Now is probably not the time to ask how to deal with my two potentially wayward congressional representatives, but I plunge ahead anyway.

I'm heading up to the Hill to meet with Delmar and Smith about the rider and I wasn't sure I've never dealt with these two before and was wondering what you thought would be the best way to approach them? I stumble over my request for his advice. I've never come out and directly asked for his help before. Normally, I can get him to play the devil's advocate for me so I can hone my argument ­ as I do for him ­ but there hasn't been time for a sit-down strategy session.

You'll do fine, Donna, he replies, looking back down at the spreadsheets covering his desk.

His response is not what I was expecting, causing me to take a closer look at him. The circles under his eyes are deeper than usual ­ a combination of staying up all night with David and the stress of the State of the Union address and mapping out the year's agenda ­ but there's something else. I can see it in the set of his shoulders. Over the past couple of years, Josh has really made an effort to not obsess over the minutiae of his job and focus his attentions where they belong and do the most good ­ on the big picture. Now, from the lines on his forehead and his excessively disheveled appearance so early in the morning, I know he's obsessing over something.

I call quietly before I turn to go.

His head snaps up again.

If you need to talkI know, babe, but this time I need to talk to Leo first. His brown eyes tell me everything I need to know: it's work-related and he can't tell me about it.

Donna knows the score. There are things I can't tell her first as much as they might bother me and as much as she hates to see me worry. By telling her I needed to talk to Leo first, I conveyed it was work, not personal and I'll tell her if and when I can. And I will tell her, because this affects my future and she's a large part of that and deserves a say.

Once she's out of the office, I return to my brooding. I like to think of myself as an ethical guy. Granted, I've pulled some underhanded, backstabbing, sneaky, borderline stunts in my twenty years of public service, but I've never outright blackmailed someone like I'm being blackmailed right now.

The difference, as I see it, is when I threaten someone, I generally threaten to expose something they've done, something their constituency would find unacceptable, in return for what I want. Or I'll threaten to derail a pet project in return for their cooperation. I've been on the other side of the normal Washington hardball game too many times to count, but here I'm in a no-win situation. If I convince the President to accept the HMO rider attached to a bill he has to sign, I'll get a financial kickback in the form of campaign contributions from the American HMO Alliance. If I don't, they'll support whatever candidate runs against me, either at the primary level or in the general election. Even if I do nothing, they can create the appearance of impropriety by donating to my campaign and then leaking that there was an agreement.

It's not a huge scandal, but if they back a primary challenger, I'd be faced with a minor scandal and the perception of being a carpet-bagger.

I need to talk to Leo. I need the opinion of someone not sitting in the middle of the mess.

Instead, I get to spend quality time with polling numbers.

The White House is not asking you to take a position on the provisions in the HMO rider, I begin my spiel to Congressmen Delmar and Smith. All we're asking is the rider be removed from the AFDC funding bill so the issue of extending HMOs' immunity from prosecution can be debated properly and on their own merits.

The two men exchange a glance, but it's Delmar who speaks. That's the thing you have to understand. We don't want to have that debate. We'd all prefer it was attached to something we have to pass and the President has to sign.It deserves a debate, I counter. The American people are demanding a debate. You just don't want to acknowledge it.

Congressman Marion Smith is older and more congenial than his colleague from California. Ms. Moss, as much as we may agree with your position, there are a significant number of us who cannot easily afford either the loss of financial support from the insurance industry or having them turn against us. Regardless of what the American people think they want. Now, if you'll excuse us, we've both got committee meetings.Let's just let the insurance lobby run the damn country then, I mutter angrily after they leave me sitting in Congressman Smith's office without another word. With a sigh, I grab my purse and follow them out.

By the time I get back to the bullpen, my annoyance hasn't dissipated one iota.

How'd it go? Josh calls from his desk as soon as I hit my office.

Swear to me, when you run for the Senate, you won't sell your soul to the insurance lobby, I yell back as I plop down in my chair with a disgusted groan.

To say Donna's comment stuck with me all day would be an understatement. Everyone who wandered through my office got the same blank stare. I couldn't tell you what any of them wanted, even Donna ­ although I did notice she looked increasingly concerned every time she checked on me. When she left a few hours ago, she warned me to not stay here all night. I found limited solace in the finalized numbers Joey emailed to me showing almost every initiative the President spoke about received a positive response from the American people.

My mind's been racing round and round the problem of J. Philip Rogers and his suggestion I encourage the President to let the HMO rider slip through. One of the best things about HMOs is they keep the cost of health insurance affordable for the majority of American families. That fact doesn't require much research. I can look at my own options and determine it's significantly cheaper to insure my family under the government's HMO than under the other available plans. But countering this, most Americans feel the system is out to get them and politicians are in the hip pocket of the insurance companies.

When Toby and I tried to get prescription drug coverage written into the Medicare reform bill a few months ago, the biggest problem was the drug lobby wanting us to give up the government's right to negotiate prices. How much more un-American can you get than price-fixing? Their point, however, was the same as it was during our talks about cheaper AIDS drugs for Third World countries: yes, the drugs are easy and inexpensive to produce after they're approved by the FDA, but the research and testing that goes into the first pill is astronomically expensive.

How do we balance the expense of research and development with the unavoidable fact that over the next 10 to 15 years, 70 million Americans are about to exit the workforce and enter the Social Security and Medicare rolls?

I'm just trying to wrap my brain what that's going to cost when the President's voice interrupts my musings.

Don't we have an entire Legislative Affairs Department to decipher where individual lawmakers are going to come down on an issue?

I stand up so fast my knees get caught under my desk. My response is a grunt of pain followed by a weak Yes, sir.

He considers the two chairs on his side of the desk before emptying the least-filled one by dropping the paperwork onto my already overloaded desk. I follow his lead and retake my seat.

How's it looking? he asks.

I shuffle through my spreadsheets to find the one I want. Better than I expected, sir. Everything you proposed had a positive response and even the low numbers are high. The most promising thing right now appears to be expanding the college tax credit to include prep school tuition for low-income families. It gets a better response from the Democratic caucus than vouchers do and looks to be a possible compromise on the issue. We get to avoid vouchers and the Republicans can call it a tax cut.Good, good, he nods before sandbagging me. Now. Why are you still here? It's nearly midnight and you've left your pregnant wife home alone for five hours with the baby.

It's like being cornered by your father when you're hiding from your mother.

I'm waiting to talk to Leo, sir. I've got a bit of a situation and it sort of involves Donna, I fess up.

Does Leo know you're waiting to talk to him? Because I think he left at least an hour ago, President Bartlet replies, raising his eyebrows at me.

I close my eyes and sigh, taking a minute to decide what to do. A little voice inside my head reminds me Jed Bartlet is a politician. He's been through this sort of thing and Donna did tell me he wants me to ask him for advice. On the other hand, my quandary does involve the advice I give him in my capacity as a senior advisor to the President. Letting out my breath, I open my eyes and see his concerned visage looking back at me, telling me he's here as my mentor, not my boss.

I was approached by an insurance lobbyist last night at the reception. He intimated that if I convinced you to call off Donna on the HMO rider and sign the bill as is, he would be well placed to assist in my Senate campaign in 2006. If I don't, he'll make sure I don't make it out of the primary, I explain, feeling better just for getting it off my chest. I feel like I'm caught in an ethical catch-22.

President Bartlet purses his lips and nods slowly, steepling his fingers together and contemplating them before responding.

If you weren't planning to run for office, what would your advice to me be?To veto the AFDC bill if the HMO rider is still attached. They're two separate issues and we should be able to consider them separately. The insurance lobbyists have too much power and influence over Congress right now, I give him my honest answer.

He gives me a paternal smile. Then you've got nothing to worry about. Two years is a long time, Josh, you know that. The things we do today and tomorrow will likely be forgotten by then. The extension they want will pass whether it's as part of the AFDC funding bill or on its own merits. The end result is all that matters.I just don't want to give anyone an opening, to make it harder than it has to be. I like to think I'm above that sort of stuff, I try to explain.

The President chuckles and shakes his head. We all like to think we're above the pandering and backroom dealing, but we're not. Lots of people, you and I included, get into politics because we see a chance to fix all the wrongs in the world from inside the system. But the system is a living, breathing thing and it feeds on our instinctual desire for power. It's like an addiction.

I sigh heavily. It's one thing to be someone's advisor, to analyze the possibilities and suggest a course of action or a decision. It's entirely something else to be the one making the call I'm discovering. Not just which course of action I should take, but whether or not I can look myself, and more importantly my family, in the face. My father always made sure he could do that. He'd never take on a case just for the money, he had to know his client was in the right.

I don't want to give anyone the opportunity to question my integrity, I admit. I mean, look at Congress right now. The only reason it isn't a non-stop conveyor belt of ethics investigations is because the leadership agreed to a truce. Now the Ethics Committee is a toothless joke. They couldn't investigate a complaint if they tried. The average voter has no way of knowing if their congressman is in the hip pocket of the drug lobby and they know it, so they assume all politicians are crooked.I'll agree there's guilt by association to a great degree. Much as there is with shyster lawyers. A few unethical bastards making everyone else look bad, Bartlet leans forward in his chair.

I lean back in my own, considering his words. Like Sam's date last night. Nice young woman once you get to know her, but you're so blinded by Sam's track record you don't want to bother with her.What was wrong with her?

I have to laugh. Nothing! She's perfect for him. Yeah, she's a tad young, but I've got no room to talk. The problem everyone has is Sam found her all by himself. If I'd introduced them, it wouldn't be an issue.Maybe that's what you need, Bartlet muses. Someone to introduce you to the people of Wisconsin. I ask a bit baffled.

He looks thoughtful before continuing. This is what I actually wanted to talk to you about. I got a call this afternoon from Governor Wilson of Wisconsin. The current Secretary of State up there is a bright young guy with extensive state legislature experience. He wants to run, but he doesn't want a primary fight involving the White House. I agree it wouldn't be good for either of you. Wilson's lieutenant governor has some health issues and would be willing to jump off the ticket next go around. They want to know if you'll stay out of the Senate race and run with Wilson instead.

Taken aback by the out-of-the-blue suggestion, I recline further in my chair, contemplating the fork in the road of my future. It isn't exactly what I'd planned, but it could work and it would be an excellent way to unload the image of being an opportunist who only moved to Wisconsin to run for office. Wilson's immensely popular, I know, I wouldn't be much of a factor in his reelection.

They told me nobody else was interested, I mention, idly wondering where this guy came from.

This is the first the DSCC has heard from this guy, the President explains.

It's not a horrible idea. I'd have to talk to Donna about it, I think out loud.

Governors have a better track record of getting elected to higher office, Bartlet points out as he gets to his feet. Go home and think about it. You've got time to talk to your wife and make a decision.

My eyes snap open and I lie still, unsure what woke me.

Josh's muted curse floats through the stillness to my ears. He must have walked into something in the dark.

It's nearly 1 o'clock in the morning and while I expected him to be late, I didn't think it would be this late. He hasn't worked past midnight in months.

I wait patiently, listening to him go about his business. His first stop is the nursery, to check on David and I can hear him whispering over the baby monitor. Satisfied our son is asleep, he comes into our bedroom and strips as quietly as he can. I can hear him taking the time to hang his suit up rather than leave it in a pile on the floor of the walk-in closet. Something he's become more conscientious about since I can't bend over like I used to.

A momentary rush of cold air assaults my body when he lifts up the covers to slide under them. The heat of his body quickly replaces the chill as he wraps himself around me, his hand protectively splayed over my stomach. He kisses my shoulder and then snuggles his face into the crook of my neck, his breath a warm, moist presence on my collarbone.

Is everything okay? I ask quietly, covering his hand with my own.

He doesn't answer right away.

Not really.Is this about what you needed to talk to Leo about? If he can't talk to me yet, I don't want to push the issue.

Yeah, but he left tonight before I could talk to him. I talked to President Bartlet, though.Can you tell me about it?

He nods, his stubble scratching against my skin.

Before I found you at the reception last night, I was stopped by a guy from the American HMO Alliance, he begins, the story pouring out of him.

The ethical implications are obvious to me immediately and I understand why he wouldn't talk to me today about my meetings.

What did the President say when you told him? I'm glad he talked to President Bartlet about it rather than Leo. Josh and Leo are both campaign strategists. Neither of them has any experience actually being the candidate and the type of advice Josh needs right now is from somebody who can help him understand the consequences from that point of view.

He said it'd go away by the time the Wisconsin primary season rolls around in the spring of '06.It is two years away and by then the extension will have been renewed, I agree. After my meeting today, I know there's no chance of getting this rider off the bill and even if there is, the insurance lobby has enough pull in Congress to get it attached to something else and passed without debate.

Josh doesn't say anything and I can feel there's something else.

I prompt. What else did the President say?He got a call from Governor Wilson this afternoonGovernor Wilson of Wisconsin? I interrupt.

Josh confirms before continuing. The Wisconsin Secretary of State wants to run for Senate and Wilson called to offer a deal.What kind of deal?The kind where I don't run for the Senate. I run for lieutenant governor instead.What about the things we talked about at Thanksgiving?This would be a minor detour in the road, he acknowledges.

I don't understand, Josh. Running for Senate was your idea to begin with. I thought it was what you really wanted. I roll on to my back so I can see his eyes.

He props himself up on his elbow and I see something I'm not accustomed to seeing in my husband ­ insecurity and fear.

You know how when you got back from the Hill you said hoped I wouldn't sell my soul to the insurance lobby?

I reach up and stroke his cheek with the back of my fingers, realizing it was at that point in the day he started to not just withdraw, but zone out. I didn't mean to imply you actually would.I know you didn't, but it started me thinking and then when I was talking to President Bartlet, something clicked. You know how everyone judged Maria last night because she was Sam's date? Josh waits for my nod before continuing. My dad would never take a case if he believed his client was guilty. When I was in law school, I asked him about it once. I wondered how he got to be a partner at a firm like Debevoise and Plimpton refusing to represent clients he felt was guilty. You know what he told me?He said even though he was a lawyer and everyone is entitled to legal representation, he was also a man with a family and he was entitled to be able to look at himself in the mirror every day and know he never compromised his ethics. I want to be able to do the same thing and I think this could help. It's a lower profile start. I can build some name recognition and learn more about what drives the Wisconsin political scene without the pressure of having to play the Washington game as well.

I know better than to argue with Josh when he invokes his father. If it's what you want, Josh, then it's what you should do.I'm scared, Donna, he admits in a barely audible whisper. We set this huge goal and I I feel like I'm stumbling all over myself before I'm even in the starting gate. I don't know if I can do this and still be You and David and the cub, you're more important to me than The President told me the system feeds on our base desire for power. It's an addiction. I don't want that. I don't want to wake up 15 years from now and not be able to look you in the eye.

I know Josh has done some less than honorable things in his career, cut backroom deals to assure victories, but he's always fought the good fight and never broken his word. He's my real thing and it's time to remind him of that.

Why did you leave Hoynes for Bartlet? I ask, reaching for his hand

Because Jed Bartlet is the real thing and John Hoynes is a man in love with the power of being a politician, Josh replies, his brow knotting in confusion.

How did you know Bartlet was the real thing? He's never told me about this, but Sam did, while we were sitting in the waiting room after Rosslyn.

A faint smile touches Josh's lips as he recollects the night he first heard Jed Bartlet speak. Leo coerced me into going up to New Hampshire to listening to him give a speech at the VFW. One guy stood up and asked him why he voted against the New England Dairy Farming Compact. Bartlet looked at him and admitted he had screwed this guy and then proceeded to tell him why. Told the guy he didn't want to make it harder for people to buy milk. That one in five Americans living in poverty are children and he thought we had an obligation to give our children better than we ourselves had.Make me a promise. I lock my eyes on his.

That you'll give our children better than we ourselves had. President Bartlet is right, power is addictive, but it also comes with the sacred trust to meet the obligation of making this world better. Promise me you'll always put the obligation first. I've got your back on the rest of it.I promise, he whispers, leaning down to seal the pact with a kiss. What did I ever do to deserve you?You got damn lucky, I retort with a chuckle.

I did, didn't I? This time when he smiles it lights up his brown eyes and he leans in to kiss me again.


	41. Yogi & BooBoo

_April 1, 2004_

Oh, God, not again, I groan, rolling over and covering my head with the pillow.

Three nights ago, David stopped sleeping through the night by waking us up at 2 am with a blood-curdling scream. I bolted out of bed, convinced I'd find him with his head stuck between the slats of the crib. What I found was my nine-month-old son standing up, clutching the crib rail with tears streaming down his face. Thinking that maybe he'd had a bad dream, I rocked him back to sleep, tucked him in and returned to bed.

To be reawakened two hours later.

When it happened again the next night, Donna went into research mode and hunted down an explanation.

Separation anxiety.

Apparently, David's now old enough to notice whether we're in the room with him or not and when he wakes up in the middle of the night and we're not there ­ he thinks we've abandoned him.

Or something like that.

I didn't retain it all, seeing as I'd gotten 2 hours of sleep the two previous nights.

Regardless, the solution is something Donna refers to as sleep training.' Which I think is easy for her to say, since she's the one who gets to stay in bed.

What it boils down to is this: when David wakes up and cries, I'm supposed to comfort him until he's almost asleep, then tuck him in before he completely drifts off. The purpose, according to Donna, is to teach David to fall asleep on his own after he wakes up in the middle of the night, yet show him we're there if he needs us.

David's standing in his crib and he reaches out his arms to me as soon as I enter the nursery.

I coo, picking him and running my hand over his curly brown hair.

God, when did I become the kind of man who coos?

He calms quickly, but shows no interest in going back to sleep.

What's gotten into you, huh, Bear? I ask rhetorically as I amble out of the nursery and into the living room in search of his favorite storybook.

My independent research indicates David's changing sleep habits may have been triggered by a sudden change in habit or routine. I think he senses his mother's increased anxiety over the pending arrival of his sibling.

Just a couple more days until the cub comes, Bear, I tell him, squatting down to pick up the book from its place on the floor.

I hope you get a sister, I continue my monologue on our way back to the nursery. You'll like having a sister, I promise.

We plop down in the rocking chair and I flip open the book needlessly. I've memorized the story of _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_. Sam gave it to David for Chanukah and, like the worm from the Bartlets and my old teddy bear, it's become a favorite.

Four pages in, David starts yawning and rubbing his eyes. I carefully stand up, still reciting the story, and cross to the crib. Gently lying him on his back, I cover him with the quilt and watch as he yawns once more and lets his eyes drift closed.

I turn to go and make it two steps down the hall before I hear him whimper and start to fuss.

Da! Da! Da! Da da! he cries, clearly not ready to go back to sleep.

Picking him up, I return to the rocking chair, humming under my breath.

Looking down at David, I have a clear and frightening revelation. In two days, or less, I'm going to be responsible for two children under the age of one.

Not one.

Two.

Two children to comfort when they cry, two diapers to change, two tiny beings to carry everywhere. Although, since he started crawling a couple of weeks ago, David prefers to get himself wherever we're headed.

_How the hell are we going to do this?_ I ask myself as I rock back and forth. _What the hell have I done?_

What's Daddy gonna do, Bear? I ask David.

My son doesn't begin to understand his father's fears, but he comforts me nonetheless, and albeit unknowingly, by snuggling deeper into my embrace, seeking the safety he's come to expect there. Showing me without words he trusts me to care for him come what may. The same way I trusted my father and my grandfather to always care for me and guide me along the right path.

Can I do any less?

Oh, God, I groan involuntarily as every muscle in my body cramps up. Saturday cannot get here fast enough. I don't even care about the labor part ­ even though Janet seems to think this time it will last a lot longer.

Of course, active labor with David lasted all of fifteen minutes, so longer is a relative term.

Josh calls, hustling into our bedroom from the nursery with David in his arms. Are you okay?I'm fine, I lie, struggling not to grit my teeth against the pain. How's Bear? he replies. His eyes search mine knowingly. Do you want me to call Janet, honey?

I shake my head and draw a deep breath. It's not time yet. It just hurts.

Granted, it feels like it will be time soon, but I'm terrified of this baby coming even a day early.

Despite my desire to shove the kid out, I'd rather wait a couple of days.

I am by no means an expert on the subject, however, I'm fairly certain Donna's in labor. I'm also certain she's not going to admit it.

Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, I reach out with my free hand and brush a stray lock of hair out of her face. Tell me when it's time, okay?

She nods and then grimaces. I count silently to myself, reaching ten before she relaxes a bit. I've learned many, many things about labor and childbirth over the past couple of months in an attempt to actually be prepared this time. One thing I learned is how long the process normally takes.

And it's a lot longer than it took with David.

Donna's biting her lip in anticipation of the pain and when it doesn't come, she relaxes even more.

My water hasn't broken and nothing's going to happen before that, she says in an attempt to reassure me. Can you help me scoot up a little?

I set David down on my side of the bed to help my wife into a more comfortable position, propping a couple of pillows behind her.

I'm going to see if David'll go down, I murmur once she's fully settled, kissing her on the forehead. You should sleep, too.

Josh stoops over and plants a second kiss on my belly button.

You stop torturing your mother, little cub, he admonishes the baby.

Like that's going to work.

After Josh leaves the room, I take a deep breath to prepare for the next round of pain.

Which doesn't come.

The way our kids listen to their father is absolutely disturbing.

Over the baby monitor, I can hear Josh trying to sing David to sleep and let myself relax to the sound of his voice.

Six months ago, Abbey Bartlet told me the time would come when I would be grateful Josh is as hands-on as he is. Back then I would have felt a rush of jealousy listening to Josh sing and David babble in reply. Tonight, I find a rush of comfort in knowing I have an equal partner.

As soon as this baby enters the world, Josh and I will have two utterly helpless lives depending on us. There's no way one of us could do it without the other.

Donna did manage to get some sleep last night, but I know it wasn't much. I could hear her periodically moaning in pain while I read and sang to David, who had zero interest in sleeping.

I'm feeding him breakfast when Donna emerges from the bedroom, one hand massaging her stomach and the other kneading her back.

How are you feeling? I ask.

she replies, pouring herself a glass of water.

I survey her skeptically, but don't say anything. I just return my attention to the task at hand. Which is going surprisingly well this morning.

Really, Josh. Donna puts her hand on my shoulder. My back hurts and my breasts are sore, but the cramps stopped. And I'm not craving sex.

I can't suppress a smirk at the memory of what we were doing when David decided to make his entrance into the world.

I think we should stay home today, I suggest, despite Donna's insistence she's feeling better.

I am not having this baby today, Donna replies, much as I thought she would. She's unreasonably anxious about the cub arriving even a day early. We're going to work.

I know better than to argue with that tone of voice and, besides, Donna knows her body better than I do, right?

Today, being the first day of the month, is Bring David to Work Day.'

This Presidentially-mandated monthly appearance gives everyone who's interested, an opportunity to keep up with him as he grows. David loves the attention and the halls echo all day with his giggling and babbling.

For only being nine months old, David has a decent vocabulary. Da, ba, ob and duh are the most frequently heard and he's arranging them into some impressive combinations.

Last Saturday, for instance, he insisted he wanted to watch ba-ba' with Daddy and the men instead of going shopping with CJ and me.

I find it highly amusing that the entire executive branch of the federal government is now referring to March Madness as ba-ba.' Even Toby, much to my surprise.

Though if I think about it, it shouldn't be surprising. Toby has performed quite the 180 over the past few months and the closer his ex-wife gets to having the twins, the more interest Toby expresses in David.

For his part, Bear is fascinated by the grouchy Communications Director. According to CJ, Toby melted visibly at Staff last month when David climbed out of Josh's lap and crawled his way across the room, bypassing Sam, Leo and the President, to snuggle up with his Ob.'

Josh claims he's going to be pissed as hell if his son says Toby' before he say Daddy.'

He shouldn't be too worried. Da,' by itself, is specifically reserved for Josh. Me, he points at and screams.

Just like his father.

My first meeting of the day is with representatives of the Sierra Club. We're discussing the impact of proposed changes in the regulations governing logging on federal land in the Pacific Northwest.

Settling into a chair in the Roosevelt Room, I'm studiously attempting to ignore the twinges that have resumed in my uterus. I flip open my briefing book in an effort to focus on anything other than the signals my body is sending my brain.

A longer-lasting, body crushing contraction is all it takes to convince me Josh was right this morning. We shouldn't have come to work and I should have had him call Janet.

My water hasn't broken yet, so I resolve to get through this meeting. Then I can quietly corral my husband and go home. High on my list of nightmares about childbirth, right after having the baby early, is having it in the White House.

I am about to sell my soul to the devil.

Can I talk to you? I approach Josh quietly while Bonnie and Ginger are occupied with the baby.

Yeah. What's up? he replies, casting a glance over his shoulder at his son as he follows me into my office.

I need a favor.

A favor might be understating what I need, but I blame Josh completely, which is one reason why I'm asking him. He's the one who told me I needed to decide where Andi stood in my personal life and how involved I wanted to be with my children. And what I decided is the reason I'm doing what I'm doing.

The other reason is because he's the only person I know who can reasonably provide what I need. I'd just rather not explain why I need it.

I need to borrow $50,000.You need WHAT?! Josh screeches, drawing the attention of everyone in the Communications bullpen.

Close the door! I hiss. The last thing I need is for my plan to get out.

Josh continues to stare at me in disbelief, but he does shut the door.

I need to borrow $50,000, I repeat.

For what?None of your business, I snap. The business of lowering myself to ask Josh Lyman for a loan has frayed my temper.

You're asking me for fifty grand, Toby. That automatically makes it my business. I have to justify a trust withdrawal of that size to my accountant, he retorts, crossing his arms and looking at me expectantly.

Just forget it. I'll find another way.I'm not saying no. I just need to know why.I'm buying a house and I'm $50,000 short on the down payment. I mumble.

You're buying a house? His horrible poker face expresses his level of shock in a way his annoyingly squeaky voice cannot.

I state flatly, praying he doesn't continue his line of inquiry.

His shock gives way to the inevitable curiosity. Why did you buy Donna a farm? I reply, meaning it rhetorically. Which is not the way he takes it.

Because she wanted it to stay in the family and because I knew we'd need a home when our time in Washington is over. His expression indicates it should be self-evident to everyone why he bought a 200 acre farmstead outside of Madison, Wisconsin.

It's Jefferson Wyler's place. He and his wife are moving back to California and I leave it hanging there, unable to admit the reason.

You want to give it to Andi, Josh surmises. Sometimes he's quicker on the pick up than others.

I admit. Her apartment in DC isn't any bigger than mineYou think this gesture will make her understand how serious you are about getting back together?

I nod my head slowly, making my case to Josh since Andi doesn't seem to listen to me. I've tried everything else. I eat salad, I'm exercising, and I'm trying to fix every reason she ever gave me for the divorce! What more does she want from me?

Josh looks thoughtful as I vent my frustration.

Not to rain on your parade or anything, but what if she still says no?

I'll drink myself into oblivion. I'll give her the house. She's wanted it for years. Since before we got married. She needs a place to raise the kids. They deserve a yard to play in and grass to roll around in. I don't want them growing up in a tenement block like I did.

Bonnie knocks on the door before Josh can give me an answer.

You guys are going to be late, she says, handing David to Josh.

It shouldn't be a problem, Toby, he says, settling his son on his hip. I'll let you know for sure tomorrow, okay?

The only thing I can do is nod. I honestly don't know if he'll loan me the money or not.

I'm ready to permanently ban logging in the Pacific Northwest if it will get me out of this meeting any faster.

There is no longer any doubt in my mind.

I am having this baby today.

And sooner rather than later.

Ms. Moss? Are you alright? asks the bespectacled older gentleman sitting across from me.

I'm sorry, we're going to need to cut this a little short. Would it be possible for you to just leave your information with my assistant? I ask, trying to be polite while fighting through an extended contraction.

Yes, of course, he stammers, grasping what's happening. Is there anything we can do for you?

I'm about to say get me the hell out of here' when I spot Larry meandering down the hallway.

I call. Get Josh. Right now.What's wrong?

He watches me breathe through the next contraction and then trips over a filing cabinet in his haste to summon my husband.

Larry comes busting into the Oval Office in the midst of item number 2 on the morning staff meeting agenda: the passing around of David.

He's gasping for breath. Whatever's wrong, he came at full Larry speed.

What's the matter? I turn away from the President, who has David standing on his lap, to see a look of sheer panic on Larry's face.

It's Donna.

I rocket out of my chair, all coherent thought fleeing my brain.

I think she's Larry can't seem to complete the sentence and turns green.

Go, Josh, the President says. He's talking to my back because I'm already out the door.

The Senior Assistants have barely had time to gather before Josh comes skidding to a halt at my side.

April Fool's. I flash him a pained smile before panting through the next contraction.

He crouches down and grips my hand. The worry lines on his forehead transform into an excited grin when he realizes I'm not dying ­ just in labor.

he asks.

We called for the doctor, Bonnie volunteers. He didn't seem to think it was urgent and suggested we take her to the hospital.

Josh gapes at her in disbelief. Two words, Bonnie. Active labor.It'll be okay, baby.

His hand is on my abdomen and he can feel my muscles ripple as well as I can.

Glancing around the room, I decide the first thing we need to do is get some of these people out of here. Catching Sam's eye, I jerk my head toward the door.

Why don't we move the meeting down to the Mural Room, he says, instructing Ed to finish hearing the anti-logging people out.

Ginger materializes next with every cushion from every couch in the West Wing. Where do I put them?Has your water broken? I ask Donna quietly.

How do you want to do this?Not here, she grinds out.

I glance around wildly, trying to decide what room would offer the most privacy.

Can we take her to the Residence? proposes Bonnie.

Donna clenches my hand tightly, a muted scream of pain issuing from her lips, encouraging me to hurry up.

The Residence sounds perfect.

Can you walk? I ask, trying to figure out how best to get her from here to there.

Donna shakes her head, sending beads of sweat flying.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath of my own, trying to force down the fear and panic I'm feeling.

With a second exhalation, the procedures Janet has drilled into my head flood back and I quickly plot a course of action.

Step one: get Donna comfortable.

With a grunt, I lift Donna from the chair and carry her toward the Residence, a few friends and co-workers tagging along behind.

Unsure what else to do in this situation, I follow behind Josh in case he needs help. Part of me wants to watch so I know what to do when it comes time for Andi to deliver, but another part of me thinks this should be a private moment between the two of them.

The Secret Service guides the two of them into the Lincoln Bedroom where Josh helps Donna with her skirt and underthings.

You ready? he murmurs.

Donna moans loudly.

Toby? Can you and Sam help her get comfortable? Josh rips off his suit jacket, tie and dress shirt.

Donna none too kindly directs us to help her squat with her feet on the floor and her back against the bed. Sam hustles to the other side of the bed to keep the mattress from sliding off, leaving me to help Josh, who seems to have every intention of delivering this baby.

Something I think should be better left to medical professionals.

I kneel next to him and voice my concerns quietly. Shouldn't you I don't know Wait for a doctor or let Mrs. Bartlet do this?

Josh doesn't answer me. Instead, he puts his hand between Donna's legs and

Oh God.

I should not be witnessing this.

Are you nuts? I screech. I mean shouldn't she be on the bed or something.Push when you're ready. Josh ignores me again, concentrating fully on his wife.

Donna nods, sweat pouring down her face.

When she bears down and groans loudly, I do what I've seen on TV and in the movies ­ I take her hand and encourage her to push.

Is it over yet? Sam squeaks from the other side of the bed, his enthusiasm for being in the room muted by his empathy for Donna's pain.

A gush of fluid precedes the appearance of the top of the baby's head. Josh gently touches it as Donna regroups.

Tearing my eyes away from the scene in front of me, I meet Sam's gaze over the bed and shake my head in answer to his question.

I return my attention to Donna when she tightens her death grip on my hand. You're doing great. Just breathe.

She turns her head and glares at me, her breath coming in panting gasps.

Clearly I said the wrong thing.

I look down at Josh, who's now sitting on the floor between Donna's legs.

How much longer? I ask.

A couple more pushes, he replies without looking up.

His confidence, whether real or faked, does wonders for me. I mean, he and Donna are doing the work. All I have to do is hold Donna's hand.

What's going

I hear Dr. Bartlet arrive and I hear someone answer her, but I'm too focused on what's going on in front of me to hear the response.

Donna bears down, crushing my hand with her effort. This time the head emerges and the rest of the baby follows with comparatively little effort.

Josh blindly accepts the towel someone hands him and wraps the newborn in it, carefully cleaning the gunk out of the baby's nose and mouth. Sam comes around the bed to support Donna while I stare at Josh tending his newborn.

When Josh catches my eye, it's as though the world has stopped rotating on its axis. I return his grin, fully aware of what he just shared with me.

Dr. Bartlet appears on his other side, offering Josh a couple of metal thingies.

Hold him for me? Josh asks, proffering the tiny, squalling bundle to me.

While the First Lady guides him through cutting the umbilical cord, I take the time to survey the little guy. The first thing I notice is he's, well, ugly.

His entire body is a reddish-purple and he's all wrinkled and squished. His hair is wet and plastered down, accentuating the fact his head is pointed at the top. He's covered in blood and some sort of white crap.

Mostly, though, I notice how small he is. The most substantial part of what I'm holding is the towel.

Shouldn't he be bigger? I whisper to Dr. Bartlet with a bit of trepidation after Josh retrieves the baby from me.

He's a little smaller than average, but it's nothing to worry about. Babies come in all sizes, Toby, Dr. Bartlet assures me while we watch Josh tenderly present Donna with their creation.

I'm not sure who helped me back up onto the bed, but I'm grateful to lie down. I don't remember hurting this much ever in my life. It feels like somebody pried my hips apart with the jaws of life.

Josh passes me a towel-wrapped bundle. He's a boy.

Our new addition looks just like David did when he was born.

Except bigger and quieter.

His mewling whimpers are drowned out by the oo's and ah's of our friends.

Oh, great, we had an audience.

Only after Ginger gives me a towel to wipe my hands on do I realize that we had an audience. The only person I was truly cognizant of, other than Donna, was Toby.

President Bartlet steps forward with David. The little boy reaches out to me and I take him into my arms.

We return to Donna's side and I introduce my sons to one another.

This is your little brother, I whisper to David. He leans forward from my arms, peering down at the tiny person occupying his mother's attention.

David looks back up at me, confused.

I can't help but grin at him. Yep, your brother.

Josh and David are wearing matching grins, but I think for two different reasons. Josh's smirk screams I'm da man.' David is smiling because Daddy is.

Dr. Bartlet appears on my other side. You want me to check him out for you?

I feel empty when she takes him from me, but it isn't long before she hands him back. Ten fingers and ten toes. Does the little guy have a name?

I look up at Josh, who we agreed is still in charge of names for the foreseeable future.

He shrugs to the room at large, but his eyes tell me he wants me to know first. I'm not 100% sure.Were you planning on GW again? There's an ambulance waiting outside, she offers.

We planned on having him at home, I tell her quietly.

Why don't you spend the rest of the day up here then, Abbey offers. She looks a bit taken aback. We'll move you to another bedroom.

I nod my head in agreement. Josh gives David to Toby then scoops the little cub and me off the bed. Resting my head on his chest, I don't bother to argue. I doubt I could walk two steps if I had to.

As we head down the hallway, Josh whispers, Elijah Lincoln.What was it going to be? The Lincoln' part sounds spur of the moment.

Elijah Joseph, he replies with a chuckle.

The First Lady leads us to the Pierce Bedroom, far from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the Residence. There is a beautiful oak crib in one corner and a matching bassinet near the bed. They are family heirlooms the Bartlets had brought down from Manchester after Thanksgiving. For emergencies, Mrs. B told Donna originally. I think it has more to do with her and the President wanting to babysit their grandson' more often.

David starts crawling around and exploring the floor as soon as Toby sets him down. It only takes him a minute to rediscover the open chest full of toys that are far more enticing than the small creature Mommy and I are fussing over.

While Abbey takes Elijah again ­ this time to clean him up ­ I help Donna put on my clean dress shirt in place of her soiled blouse.

It's fine, Josh, she insists when I ask if she's comfortable.

Our new cub is quite fussy when the First Lady returns him, but he is more presentable, no longer coated with white crap and blood. He's still pretty squished looking, though. I sit at Donna's side to marvel over him.

He doesn't seem to understand what to do with the breast he's being offered.

Da! Boo-boo! David pulls himself up on my pants and tries to scale me in an effort to see what's going on.

I pick him up and watch with fascination as he stares at Elijah, unsure what to make of this intruder in our family.

The newborn finally yawns and Donna seizes the opportunity to pop her breast in his mouth.

David repeats.

How's he doing? I run my hand over Elijah's full head of brown, curly fuzz. His little hands are balled up, pushing against Donna's breast.

It feels right, she replies with a contented sigh.

Elijah's rhythmic suckling lulls me toward sleep. The peace is short-lived, interrupted by a knock on the door.

President Bartlet sticks his head in. May I?Yes, sir. Josh answers from his place at my side. He knows I'm long past caring who sees me breastfeeding.

President Bartlet is carrying two packages.

This one is for Bear. He smiles at David, handing him a small gift.

Would it kill him to say dada?'

His huge brown eyes are pleading with Josh for help with the wrapped package.

Daddy complies, tearing back the paper to reveal a cloth busy book with a bright red, plastic ring on the front cover.

It immediately goes in his mouth.

This is for the new guy.Elijah Lincoln, Josh supplies.

Elijah's gift turns out to be a Notre Dame baby blanket.

Family name? President Bartlet asks.

Elijah was my grandfather's name, Josh confirms, quickly clearing his throat and changing the subject. Dr. B weighed and measured him for us. He's 6 pounds, 2 ounces and 17 inches. The biggest Lyman baby in history.

That would explain why I feel like I delivered a small car. I don't have any idea how my mother ever gave birth to 9 pound babies. I'd have demanded a C-Section.

The President chuckles at Josh's announcement and bends down to kiss my cheek. I'll make sure you have a few hours of peace, he whispers, running his hand over Elijah's hair.

Thank you, sir, I return his smile grateful for his understanding.

We lounge on the bed, bonding as a family for better than an hour, by which time I feel strong enough to leave the boys with their father and take a shower.

I want to be clean and not smell like I just gave birth when the parade of visitors start showing up.

Our co-workers make their way through in twos and threes: Margaret, Bonnie, Ginger, Ed and Larry, most of my Assistant Deputies, both of our assistants. Carol brought the books for the baby pool to tell us Senator Howard Stackhouse had picked the correct date, sex and had the closest weight. He wanted us to know he was planning to donate the money, in our name, to a charity called Cure Autism Now.

CJ stopped in twice, once to get Elijah's vitals for the afternoon briefing and again to fawn over him. Sam came with her the second time. He stammered and turned red when Donna thanked him for his help.

Elijah and I are the only ones awake right now. Donna is getting some much needed rest and David is curled up with her, having finally cried himself out after a spectacular temper tantrum when he realized the tiny interloper had usurped his place at his mother's breast.

Not that David has been regularly breastfeeding, but Donna never denied him when he wanted to suckle for comfort until this afternoon.

Bear's reaction was screaming and crying and kicking like nothing I've seen outside the candy section of the grocery store. We've been very lucky with David in that regard, but I think our luck has run out.

I'm going to have to start using the word no' a lot.

Don't worry about Bear, Boo-Boo, I tell my youngest. David's name for him seems to be sticking. Although if we're going to call Elijah Boo-Boo' we probably ought to start calling Bear Yogi' because Yogi and Boo-Boo sounds a lot better than Bear and Boo-Boo. He'll get used to you. Before you know it, you'll be poking him in the eye and pulling his hair and biting him. Don't tell your mother I told you that, though. Okay? That's just between us men.

Us men. Me and my sons.

No, he's not the daughter I truly wanted, but I'm sure we'll have a girl soon enough and in the meantime, I can practice using the word no' on the boys so when it comes time to say, No, you cannot date until you're 50, I'll be ready.

I am insanely covetous.

Standing in the doorway to the Pierce Bedroom, watching Josh rock his new baby, I can't control the jealousy rising like bile in my throat.

Others, primarily Sam and CJ, have accused me of being envious of his situation before, but I always vehemently denied it. Especially after Andi told me she was pregnant.

What did I have to be jealous of?

I was going to have children, too. Twins even.

Except Andi is as receptive to my overtures at reconciliation as Josh is to compromising with Republicans over the budget.

The house is a last ditch attempt to convince her I'm serious. I want her and the babies to be a part of my life. I want the chance to be half the father Josh Lyman is. Which would still be twice the father my own was.

I clear my throat to announce my presence without startling anyone.

Hey, Toby. Josh looks up and smiles at me.

I reply, nervously rocking on my heels.

Do you want to hold him? Josh offers, gesturing for me to come closer.

I take a couple of hesitant steps. Hesitant because while I do want to hold him, the prospect of handling something so small and helpless terrifies me.

Halfway across the room, my fears get the best of me.

No. No. I, um, I might break him or something.

Josh raises his eyebrows at me before rising from the chair with a practiced ease.

he says, laying Elijah in my arms and showing me how to position my hands. Make sure you support his head. Otherwise it'll be all floppy.

The baby promptly starts to whine and wiggle.

Oh, God.

Josh chuckles at my horrified look before telling me what to do. Move. Just sway or rock on your heels. He's used to feeling movement all the time.

Toby is almost always in motion. Even when he's standing still he shuffles his feet. Right now he's like a statue, staring down at Elijah with a mixture of terror and fascination. I'm sure that if someone had taken a picture of my face the first time I held David it would reflect the same thing.

Elijah is not interested in being stared at, however, and starts to squirm and whimper.

I instruct with a low chuckle. He's used to feeling motion all the time.

Toby shifts his weight from foot to foot slowly. Too slowly for my son, who screws his face up and turns red in preparation for an ear-splitting wail.

I take Elijah back, holding him close to my heart so he can feel it beating. Now, sit in the chair.

Once Toby's settled, I put the baby back in his arms and watch as he rocks haltingly, stopping and starting until he finds a gentle rhythm to soothes the savage infant.

That's not so hard, is it? I temper my words with an encouraging smile.

Toby doesn't answer me at first, but when he finally looks up, his eyes are glistening.

Thank you. For, you know, earlier, he says, so low I can barely hear his words.

It takes me a minute to realize what he's referring to.

Don't worry about it. I didn't consciously pick Toby to help, he was simply there.

No, I mean it. The whole thing terrified me, but watching you and Donna It doesn't seem so I mean, I think I can, now, you know he explains.

The string of disconnected phrases indicates we're getting into the type of emotional territory Toby and I don't venture into together. There's only one way I can think of to let him know I understand what he's struggling to express.

I'll talk to my accountant tomorrow. You should get the check by the end of the week.Are you sure?Yeah. I

How do I explain that I understand how much he loves Andi? No matter how he fails to express it to her satisfaction, I see it. As a man, I get what a big deal the changes he's trying to make are and how difficult it can be to adequately tell the woman you adore that you love her. Very few women can read between the lines of male subtext and I thank God every day that I was fortunate enough to snag one.

I settle for keeping it simple. I understand.

Toby's response is typical Toby. He looks down at Elijah and whispers to him. For a pompous, pretentious, know-it-all, your Daddy's pretty smart sometimes. You should listen to him.He's so precious, I hear someone squeal. A female someone from the pitch of their voice.

hisses Josh. Donna's asleep.Not anymore, I grumble, loud enough to be heard.

Donna! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you, but he's just perfect!

It's Zoey, beaming at Elijah and chattering at 90 miles an hour.

Laying flat has left an ache in my lower back, so I ease myself a bit more upright. Disturbing David in the process.

Bear doesn't wake up any happier than he fell asleep and seeing me only aggravates him more.

I call over David's crying. I'm tired and sore and in no mood for sibling rivalry. Come get your son.

Josh picks David up and glances around the room, visibly coming to a decision. I'm going to run home and get a bag together.

His words are music to my ears. Giving me a quick kiss, he heads out, closing the door behind him.

Zoey promptly perches on the edge of the bed.

You are so lucky, she gushes. He's so cute.Thank you, but I don't know if lucky is the word for it.Why not?It's not that I don't think I'm lucky, it's just with the newborn and David all of a sudden wanting to nurse and all the people I feel a little overwhelmed. Tears are welling up in my eyes, indicating overwhelmed might be an understatement. Over-hormoned might be a better way to put it.

Is there anything I can do? Zoey touches my arm supportively.

I shake my head ruefully. I think if I can get a little bit more sleep and if Josh can keep David occupied, I'll be okay.I don't know how you do it, the President's youngest daughter says with something close to awe.

Josh helps a lot. There's no way I could do it without him, I reply with my standard answer, thinking it's more true now than ever.

Can I say something? Zoey asks, looking sheepish.

You know how I was so upset at you and Josh for saying Charlie and I weren't ready to get married?

How could I forget? She's barely spoken to either of us since our first effort at parental divide and conquer.'

She continues when I nod. I just wanted to apologize for being bitchy and taking it out on you. You were right. Both of you. We aren't ready, yet. I can't imagine having a baby right now. We've been talking about it and decided that right now we're happy the way we are.It's a good conversation to have, I agree, remembering a similar talk in April 1998. Josh and I had it the night I came back from Wisconsin. He told me if I was going to stay and we were going to work together, he needed to admit he was very attracted to me, but wasn't ready to start a lifelong relationship yet, would I be willing to wait for him.Josh Lyman said that? Zoey almost falls off the bed in shock.

Tell me about it, I damn near fell off my chair that night. In all truthfulness we had found Toby's bottle of scotch and were celebrating my return.

What did you say?I told him I was attracted to him, too and I wasn't ready either. We agreed we'd see other people casually until we were both in a place where we thought we could give a relationship the attention it deserved. Over the years, the relationship sort of developed on its own while we weren't looking and one day Josh realized he was in that place. He told me and after a day or two, I realized I was there, too. Like I told you before, you'll know when the time is right and so will Charlie. Just don't force it.I know, she says softly, giving Elijah back to me. I should go and let you get some rest. I just wanted to apologize.It's okay, Zoey. Remember you can come talk to me or Josh any time you need to.

Once she leaves, I settle back against the pillows and put Elijah to my breast. The divide and conquer thing worked pretty well with Zoey and Charlie. Which is good, because I have a feeling it's a strategy we will be employing on a regular basis with Bear and Boo-Boo.


	42. The Numer 1 Thing

The Number 1 Thing.

_Wednesday June 1, 2004._

"Everything looks fine," Dr. Williams says, pulling the thin sheet back over my knees.

While I extract my feet from the stirrups, Dr. Williams pulls off her latex gloves and makes some notes on my chart. Leaning against the countertop, she raises her eyebrows at me.

"Now, what's the real problem?"

"I just wanted to make sure everything had healed is all," I answer truthfully. I have a plan, see, and implementation of said plan requires Squarepants to be 100 good to go.

Dr. Williams just snorted at me.

"Last time we started having sex again a little too early and there was a thing," I try to explain without blushing.

"By thing, you mean you and Josh had a misunderstanding about sex?" Dr. Williams attempts to quantify the ever-ubiquitous 'thing.'

Except she's not so good at it.

"Actually we had a misunderstanding about…" Okay, maybe she is good at it. "Something that happened while we were having sex," I finish lamely.

"That's fairly normal," the good doctor advises.

"Since when have Josh and I ever been normal?" It's a rhetorical question.

Dr. Williams just laughs and shakes her head. "Is there anything else?"

"Nope," I reply cheekily.

"Then go ahead and get dressed. You have my blessing to resume sexual relations with your husband. I cannot, however, be held accountable for the consequences."

With that disclaimer, the Dr. Williams leaves me to get dressed. After I check out at the desk, I enter the packed waiting room to find Josh pacing under the bemused glances of the room's predominately female denizens, trying to calm a squalling Elijah.

David, meanwhile, is sitting on a chair crying at a slightly higher decibel level than his little brother.

"What's the matter?" I ask, picking up his backpack, the diaper bag and David.

Josh had to take Boo-Boo to the pediatrician for shots, so I understand the problem there and I've got a pretty good idea of what David's issue is.

"Your son poked Elijah in the eye." Josh opens the door and ushers us out.

I fix him with a look of mock disbelief. "My son? I believe he has a stronger attachment to you. Which seems to be the problem."

I'm only half-kidding.

David cannot abide Josh focusing his attention on Boo-Boo and since he's only 11 months old, there's no reasoning with him. Most parenting magazines say children under 18 months don't experience the same sort of sibling rivalry that say a two-year-old does. But, as I pointed out to Dr. Williams, Josh and I are not exactly normally – why would our kid be?

I admit to being amused when the whole thing started. In the first couple weeks, David screamed endlessly if his daddy so much as held his little brother. Josh then tried sitting David next to him when he had the baby in his arms. David's reaction to that compromise has been to crawl on top of Elijah and sit on his head.

To his credit, Josh is working very hard to not reinforce David's behavior. But, being the disciplinarian is not Josh's strong suit. Sure, he can browbeat Congress and intimidate Cabinet secretaries, but when it comes to our kids, my husband, Bartlet's Bulldog, is a pushover.

According to his mother, Josh gets that from his father. The phrase "wait until your father comes home" was never a threat in the Lyman household. To be honest, it didn't hold much sway in the Moss household either – my father was spineless when it came to Pat and I – so I always figured I'd be the disciplinarian in our family anyway.

What keeps the situation with Bear and Boo-Boo from continuing to be humorous is that it's elevating Josh's stress level, which has already reached new heights at work.

Two weeks ago, Palestinian terrorists in Gaza blew up a Congressional delegation that was touring the area. Two Congressmen were killed along with the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Fitzwallace, and a congressional staffer named James Holtman. One of CJ's deputy press secretaries was seriously injured.

Leo and the President and most of the senior staff spent last week up at Camp David hammering out yet another peace agreement between the Palestinians and the Israelis.

Josh stayed home to mind the store.

He spent his time fielding increasingly vitriolic complaints from both sides of the aisle. It's safe to say a majority of Congress wants to see the Middle East turned into a parking lot, which is a course action President Bartlet is not prepared to take.

I, personally, think the death of James Holtman is affecting Josh more than he's willing to admit. I know the loss of Admiral Fitzwallace was hard for him, too. The Admiral was always understanding and never condescending of Josh's pacific tendencies, and losing Congressmen Korb and DeSantos isn't a small deal either, but Holtman is a different story. He was a legal aide to DeSantos and was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Not unlike Josh at Rosslyn.

His emotional state has been worrisome enough for me to concoct a plan to get him away from the office and away from DC. Granted, I need the complicity of the leader of the free world at a time when he's busy with bringing peace to the Middle East, but hopefully, he'll agree that heading off Josh's impending nutty is equally important.

"Walken and the House delegation are in the Roosevelt Room. They've been waiting for almost an hour. The blue folder is what OMB thinks we can give up to make the peacekeepers revenue neutral, the red folder is what they think the Republican leadership is going to ask for." My assistant, Chris, scurries beside me as we stalk through the corridors.

"Are they pissed?" I ask. Part of me wants this to be over and done with, while another part wants to vent my spleen on them. I can't seem to make it through the day anymore without wanting to rip someone's head off.

Chris waits until we reach the Roosevelt Room to answer. Peering over his shoulder into the room, he hands me a pair of folders. "Yeah, Josh. They're pissed."

I take a deep breath and steel myself to sell a plan I support only because the President does.

"Let me apologize for the confusion," I begin, attempting to be conciliatory since we did keep them waiting so long. "Leo was supposed to take this meeting, but he got hung up at the Pentagon and I had an appointment I couldn't move."

The Majority Leader, Congressman Jeff Haffley, leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. He flashes an ingratiating smirk around the table. "I would think Bartlet would be a little more… considerate of our time. Seeing as we're the ones he's asking to fund his little Middle East misadventure. I doubt whatever appointment you had was more important than giving us the respect we deserve."

"I had to take my son to the doctor, Congressman," I retort, feeling control of my temper slip a bit. Flipping the blue folder open, I glance over what OMB came up with. Everything looks reasonable – the money is all coming out of programs we only grudgingly support. Closing the folder, I push it across to Walken. "These are the cuts President Bartlet is offering to make the commitment of peacekeepers revenue neutral."

"You forget how fast they grow when you get to be my age," observes President Bartlet. He's sitting behind his desk holding Elijah. It's the first of the month and the tradition of bringing David in to see the President has been expanded to include Elijah. David was at senior staff this morning and is presently being entertained by Margaret.

"He's already bigger than David was at eight weeks." I can't help smiling proudly.

"Too bad he looks so much like Josh," the President jokes, giving me an in.

"Speaking of Josh, Mr. President, I wondered if I could talk to you about something?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, Sir, to be honest, I'm worried about him. Ever since the Gaza thing, he's… he's been on edge, snapping at every little thing… and we're having some problems with David and… I'm… I'm concerned it's going to be a… thing. Sir." It all comes out in a rush, making zero sense.

My last statement, however, grabs the President's attention. "Have you tried talking to him about it?"

"There hasn't been any time to talk, Mr. President," I explain. "With the hours he's been working and the boys both being up all night, we haven't had any time to ourselves."

"What are you thinking?"

"I was wondering if you would let Josh have Friday, Saturday and Sunday off? His mother can come up to watch the boys and I can get reservations at a bed and breakfast on Tilghman Island in Maryland. If we can get away, I think we can sort everything out and it'll be best for everyone."

President Bartlet doesn't need to know my plan involves copious amounts of sex as a cure-all.

"I'm surprised you support this cockamamie plan, Josh," Speaker of the House, Glenallen Walken remarks. He's playing good cop to Haffley's bad cop.

I could kill Leo for leaving me to deal with these sanctimonious jackasses. I was NOT supposed to take this meeting.

We've been at this for almost twenty minutes and have made zero progress. My head is pounding and what little emotional control I had when I walked in is nearly gone.

The thing is Walken's right – I don't support the peace plan. However, I work for the President and I have a job to do – sell this plan to Congress. To fail to do so would imply I let my personal feelings get in the way, something I promised Leo I wouldn't do.

"I've given the President my private counsel, Mr. Speaker, and whether or not he chose to accept it is none of your business. This plan has been agreed to by the Palestinian Authority, the Israeli Prime Minister and the President of the United States. It is a compromise in the name of peace from all parties." My reiteration of the White House's position is firm.

"You mean to tell me you support the Palestinians' demands that the Israelis abandon their settlements?" This question comes from Representative Coburn, an ultra-conservative from Oklahoma. He and Mary Marsh have dinner at least once a week.

"Let me make sure you understand what's happening here," I snarl, giving into my anger and frustration. "President Bartlet has chosen a path toward peace and stability in the Middle East. I support that goal and it is in this nation's best interest to do so as well. If we can provide alternative solutions to the Palestinians' concerns while maintaining Israeli security, it becomes one less grievance against us in the Arab world. I suggest you gentlemen get on board, otherwise you're going to look damn stupid when this works."

"Are you threatening us?" Haffley scoffs, looking at his colleagues with mock amazement. "Let ME make sure YOU understand what's happening here. The House of Representatives will not allocate a damn dime for this grandiose misadventure. I think we're finished here."

He and the others gather their things in preparation for leaving.

Speaker Walken lingers, toying with the blue folder.

"I'll take that back," I state, coldly holding my hand out of the OMB projections.

Walken studies the grain of the table before looking up. "Josh, we cannot simply roll over on this. Two congressmen were killed and the President didn't so much as attempt a show of force. An eye for an eye, it says in the Bible."

"You're right, Mr. Speaker. He didn't fight back. He did something better. He turned the other cheek," I fire back, livid that on top of them playing to my personal religion sympathies – I'm on the receiving end of a lecture about the finer points of Christian fundamentalism

The Speaker favors me with a slight smile before changing tacks. "You don't believe in this, Josh. Why fight so hard for it?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe in. The President of the United States believes in it and my job is to make what he wants to happen, happen."

Walken nods slowly as if he's come to the conclusion I will not be swayed from supporting the President. This time he picks up the folder and places with his own papers. "Call my office tomorrow. I'll pull Haffley and Coburn in. Whatever is in here will be fine."

"Give me the folder, Mr. Speaker."

"You don't want to have this fight with me, Josh. Eventually one of those peacekeepers is going to get killed and we'll hang it around your neck for failing to properly fund them."

"You won't get the chance, Mr. Speaker."

Walken chuckles, almost condescendingly. "What are you going to do? Introduce a funding bill? We control Ways and Means, Josh. You can't and you know it."

His eyes lock with mine for what feels like an eternity. When he finally looks away, he nods and drops the folder on the table and leaves the room. I stare at the folder, not entirely sure what I've just done other than lost my temper and fucked up by the numbers.

"Do you think it's reached a point he needs to talk to someone?" Bartlet asks, forcing me into a bit of a corner.

After _that_ Christmas, Stanley Keyworth referred Josh to a local psychiatrist who specializes in the long-term management of PTSD. For over a year, Josh saw Dr. Marstens at least weekly. After our relationship changed and the election-cycle heated up, he didn't go as often and to the best of my knowledge, Josh hasn't seen him since before we got married.

All the President or Leo or anyone else knows is Dr. Keyworth diagnosed Josh with PTSD and Josh successfully manages his condition. I'm hesitant to reveal anything about Josh's history with Dr. Marstens without his consent, so I sidestep the issue.

"I think if we can take a couple days away from here and hash out a strategy for handling the boys, then every will fall into place, sir. I'm just concerned he's going to do something stupid…"

"GOD DAMN IT!" Leo's bellowing proves Donna prescient. "MARGARET, GET JOSH IN HERE RIGHT NOW!"

"Why don't you go ahead and…" I give Donna the baby back and get up out of my chair.

The young woman gives an understanding nod and leaves through the door to the secretaries' anteroom. Whatever it is Josh has done this time will be between Josh and Leo and I. Granted, I'll take Donna's concerns under advisement, but if this is what I think it is, I'm going to kill him.

His opinion of the peace accords is well known amongst the senior staff, especially since his preferred course of action is so radically out of character. Josh is best described as a dove: a man who eschews military intervention unless absolutely necessary. Until I tasked him to supervise the restructuring of the Department of Homeland Security, his experience in military and international relations was minimal, to say the least.

In the year since then, he's made tremendous strides in foreign policy – mostly by pestering Admiral Fitzwallace into explaining the 'why' behind decisions to him. Thus, when he came out in vocal support of Miles Hutchinson's plan to carpet-bomb Gaza in retaliation, he shocked a lot of people.

Joshua Lyman is the consummate political operative, however.

Thus, it was no surprise when I made the decision to exercise diplomacy instead of military might, Josh diligently suppressed his opposition and did everything I asked of him. My keeping him at home for the duration of the peace talks had everything to do with his family situation and nothing to do with his political opinions and Josh knew that. He never wavered in his public support for my actions, even under the barrage of constant Congressional criticism, and in every conference call Leo had with him, he offered constructive advise for bringing the parties together on issues.

In other words, he performed his duties exactly as I expected him to.

It's clear from the yelling coming out of Leo's office that is no longer the case. I ease the door between the offices open and watch quietly as my Chief of Staff dresses down his Deputy.

"Haffley just called me and said there's no way they'll allow a funding resolution to even be introduced in committee?" Leo is foaming at the mouth. He wanted to deal with Congress because he felt Josh's ambivalence about the peace accord would be too easily detectable and we'd end up having to give away too much to pay for the peacekeepers. "God damn it, if you couldn't keep your personal opinions to yourself, then you shouldn't have been in the damn room!"

"I…" Watching Josh stand before Leo's desk and take his verbal whipping, I can see clear evidence of what Donna is so concerned about. A barely controlled tension radiates off Josh's body.

"There is not an excuse you can come up with to get you off the hook, Josh. God damn it! I don't want you anywhere near these discussions. You are not to have any interaction with any member of Congress until I inform you otherwise, do you understand me?" Leo rails.

"Leo, I…"

"I asked if you understood me?" Leo interrupts Josh's attempt at an explanation.

"Yes, sir," the younger man replies.

"Get out."

Josh hesitates for a breath as if he has something to say, but in the end turns and leaves the office without noticing my presence in the opposite doorway.

"What happened?" I ask, moving fully into the office and closing all the doors.

Whatever Josh did, it can't be good. He looks like something the cat dragged home, ate and then vomited back up.

"What happened?" I ask, following him into his office and closing the door.

He doesn't reply, choosing instead to take Elijah from my arms. David is in the Communications bullpen being fawned over by Bonnie and Ginger.

"Josh…" I begin.

"Don't, Donna," he shakes his head and sits on the front edge of his desk. "I thought I could keep my feelings out of it and I couldn't. I overcompensated."

There's a sharp rap on the door before I can say anything. Josh nods, but goes around his desk to stare out the window, leaving me to deal with whomever is at the door.

"Come!"

My assistant, Debbie, sticks her head in.

"Charlie just came by with a message. The President says your plan is approved with the following modifications." She stops and looks down at her notepad to read the revisions. "It starts today and something about a guy named Stanley. I didn't quite get what Charlie meant."

"What did he say?" I hope the President didn't order Josh to call Stanley, because if he did, that means either the President or Leo is going to call Stanley and tell him to expect Josh's call. Which is going to make Josh very unhappy. Josh isn't fond of being told he has to talk to a therapist.

"Charlie said to think about Stanley. Whatever that means."

Debbie's been here for nearly two years, you'd think she'd be used to cryptic messages by now.

"Okay."

"Also, He wants to see Josh."

I look back over my shoulder at Josh. He's leaning against the window with Elijah draped over his shoulder, staring aimlessly outside.

"Josh?" I call, interrupting his brooding. "He wants to see you."

There's no doubt who He is. You can hear the capital H.

Josh inhales deeply and steps around his desk, surrendering Elijah to me as he passes. His feet drag him toward the Oval Office in a pale imitation of his normal, cock of the walk swagger. Once he's out of sight, I corral both Debbie and Josh's assistant, Chris, in their shared cubicle.

"Josh is going to be out for at least the rest of the week. Reschedule everything. If anyone asks why, he had a family emergency – I'm sick and he needs to stay home with the boys. If you get a question about Josh being in trouble or about there being an altercation with Congressional Republicans in the Roosevelt Room, you tell them you know nothing and refer them to the Chief of Staff's office. Do you understand?" I meet both their eyes conveying the importance of what I just said.

"When do we anticipate he'll be back, ma'am?" Debbie asks.

"I'm due to return from maternity leave on Monday and as far as you know, that's when Josh will be back as well."

He knows why he's here and therefore Josh doesn't so much enter the Oval Office as he drags himself before my desk to accept whatever punishment I've decided to dole out for his fuck up in the Roosevelt Room.

I let him stand there for long moments, taking in his appearance under the guise of contemplating his sentence. What I see is worrisome and I feel a pang of regret for not having noticed the dramatic change on my own.

If you looked 'haggard' up in the dictionary, there would be a picture of the present state of Josh Lyman.

The dark circles under his eyes are far more pronounced than they were a month ago and they give him a hollow look, accentuating the angles of his face. His suit hangs off his shoulders as though he hasn't eaten in months. And if you dare to look into his eyes, you notice the mischievous sparkle is gone, replaced by sheer exhaustion.

"You look like hell."

Whatever he expected, a non sequitur wasn't it.

"It's been a long couple of months, Sir," Josh allows, fidgeting slightly and looking confused. I've never opened an ass chewing with a statement about his appearance.

"Not just for you. Everyone in this building has been working day and night on this peace accord," I growl, getting down to business. My annoyance doesn't need to be feigned. "Yet, you're the only one who couldn't keep his mouth shut and toe the party line. You managed to jeopardize everything we worked for at Camp David. If we can't get funding for the peacekeeping mission, the entire agreement will fall apart and then it really will have all been for nothing!"

I let him stew on that for a moment, half-wondering if he'll make any move to defend himself.

When he remains mute, I continue, delivering the punishment.

"Spend this afternoon getting Sam up to speed on the rest of the week's agenda. He can staff me. You can spend your time contemplating whether you can keep your damn personal opinions to yourself in the future!"

"Sam, Sir?" Josh repeats faintly.

Josh Lyman thrives on being the guy I count on. Kicking him out of the room was the most effective way I could come up with to express my displeasure with his behavior. Plus, it enabled me to fulfill Donna's request to give him some time off.

"It's time Sam moves up to the big leagues," I remark as casually as I can. "After you get him up to speed, I want you out of the building. Someone will call you and tell you when to come back to work. You are to spend your spare time writing a position paper explaining, in detail, how you plan to keep your damn mouth shut in the future. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," is all he says, but his horrible poker face gives away his despair.

I didn't think it was possible for Josh to look any worse than he did when he walked in, but as he mutters a reflexive 'thank you, Sir' and turns to go, I can see the additional damage I've inflicted written as plain as day in his expression.

Donna is nowhere in sight when I return to the bullpen.

"Chris!" I bellow, losing my internal struggle to not take out my frustrations on my assistant.

"Yes, sir?" He whips his head around from the copy machine he's operating.

"I need you to pull all the briefing packets for the rest of the week and send them over to Ginger for Sam." It comes out as a bark and is followed by the slamming of my door.

The reverberations of which knock several pictures off my wall, including the one of my grandfather and I. In a testament to how my day is going, it slips between the wall and my desk, forcing me to get down on my knees to retrieve it. Reaching my hand into the cramped space, I grab the frame and pull it out.

"Shit!" I curse when I gouge a finger on one of the glass shards sticking out of the edge of the frame.

I reflexively stick the injured digit in my mouth like I'm still the six-year-old in the old photograph. The blood tastes tangy, like sucking on a copper penny and before I can stop it a sweet smell overwhelms me. I struggle to take deep breaths and fight to not hear the sirens.

When I'm able to get it under control, I discover I've clenched my hand so tightly around the picture frame that there are pieces of glass now embedded in all of my fingers.

Tossing the photo onto my desk, I use my uninjured hand to dig into my back pocket for my handkerchief. Awkwardly wrapping it around my right hand, I quickly realize it's like trying to plug a leaking levee with a wooden shoe. Short of presenting myself to the on-duty Naval medical officer, an act which will no doubt land me on the next flight to San Francisco to see Stanley Keyworth, I have nothing to staunch the bleeding with.

The thought of Stanley reminds me of the last time I shredded my hand with glass. That night, I wrapped it up in an old undershirt. Looking down at myself, I figure I can wear my suit jacket the rest of the day and nobody will notice my lack of undershirt or the damage to my hand, as long as I don't go flailing it around. I mean, the only person I'm seeing the rest of the day is Sam and he'll be so flustered at the opportunity to staff the President he'll never notice.

The first thing I notice when Josh arrives home at the insanely early hour of 5 pm is his bandaged hand. Granted, I had a tip off call from Sam. His thoughtfulness enabled me to put the boys down later than normal for the nap and be prepared to give my husband my complete attention.

"What happened?" I demand, far more shrill-ly than I meant to.

Josh flinches at my tone, but haltingly explains what happened to his hand as he follows me through our bedroom and into our bathroom.

"Sit," I order, pointing at the toilet.

I kneel between his legs and tenderly unwrap his hand. Most of the damage is confined to his fingers, which I pick glass shards out of using a pair of tweezers. Josh grits his teeth and suffers my ministrations silently. His docility concerns me, but I decided on a course of action after Sam's phone call and I'm sticking to it.

"I don't think you need to see a doctor," I say when I'm finished cleaning him up. I took the time to dress each finger individually.

Josh nods once and then resumes his study of the floor tiles.

There's no containing my sigh of frustration. He's clammed up like an oyster since the Gaza Incident and his coming home with a bloody hand is too reminiscent of the last time he got like this. There isn't time in my life for Josh to suffer a complete breakdown. We have two babies who need us 24/7 and I can't do it by myself.

"Okay, that's it," I hiss, closing the bathroom door and keeping my voice down so as not to wake the kids. "This little pity party you've got going on needs to end. Now. I don't know where the hell your head's been lately, but I need you here," I jam my finger toward the floor. "You can't just keep going through the motions, Josh. I can't manage this family by myself."

Donna storms out of the bathroom; leaving me sitting on the toilet with her words echoing in my ears.

Truth be told, I don't know what's wrong. Yes, I'm exhausted from working 18 hours a day and then being up the rest of the night with my sons. Yes, I'm angry over Admiral Fitzwallace's death at the hands of Palestinian extremists. Yes, my pride is stung because the President wouldn't consider my advice in the aftermath of the incident. Yes, I feel slighted because I was left in D.C. during the peace talks. Yes, I'm furious with myself because I let the House Republican Leadership bait me. Yes, I feel humiliated because I've been kicked out of the room and replaced by Sam.

The thing is, I've suffered through these indignities before – singly and in combination with one another. Why would they be affecting me like this now? Why is my temper constantly simmering just below the surface, just waiting to burst loose and inflict damage on someone? Why can't I seem to make any of the coping skills I learned in therapy work? Why do I feel like my friends are conspiring against me?

It's like I've been following a light down a dark tunnel and all of a sudden the light went out and now I'm wandering around, lost in the dark.

It doesn't feel like a PTSD episode. Believe me when I tell you I've been paying attention, waiting for the signs to manifest themselves.

With a deep breath, I heave myself off the toilet and head out to face my wife. With any kind of luck, David will still be sleeping – giving me a reprieve to spill my guts to Donna. Exactly what I should have done when I started to feel overwhelmed.

She's in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair holding my old teddy bear with the shades drawn. In the shadows cast by the Winnie the Pooh nightlight, I can see tears on her cheeks.

I sit at her feet and rest my head against her leg.

"I don't know what's wrong," I admit in a whisper. "Everything I touch explodes in my face. I can't get anything right."

My hand reaches down to stroke his hair of its own accord. I had every intention of being pissed off at him until he figured out what the problem was, but it's clear he has no idea. Maybe the President wasn't so far off the mark earlier today.

"Do you need to talk to Dr. Marstens?" I broach the topic with no small amount of reservation.

He pulls his head away from my leg and sits quietly for a moment.

"I'm not sure," he finally replies. "I don't think it's… that, but I don't know for sure."

"It could just be one of those times in your life when you need to just step away and come back at it fresh." I haven't noticed any of the overt signs of PTSD either, and trust me, I've been paying damn close attention.

A humorless chuckle escapes Josh. "Well, that won't be hard to accomplish since I've been kicked out of the White House indefinitely."

"What?" I fake my shock, curious to know how the President decided to fulfill my request.

"I blew the funding meeting." His admission comes with a shaky sigh. "Haffley called Leo and swore there would be no supplemental appropriations bill. Leo thinks I let my personal opinions get in the way."

"Did you?" It is a possibility.

"No!" he nearly shouts, glancing at the crib to make sure he didn't wake David.

"Then how did you blow it?" This could be good.

Josh tilts his face upward to stare at a higher point on the wall. "I overcompensated."

He did what?

"You did what?" I'm incredulous. I can't imagine Josh delivering a smackdown on behalf of the peace accord. I know better than anyone how much he deplored the idea of giving in to terrorists.

"I overcompensated," repeats Josh. "I told them they didn't have a choice, they had to appropriate the funding for the peacekeepers."

"And you're in trouble for that?" I have to keep up the charade of not knowing why he suddenly has time off.

"Leo and the President don't know why the meeting crashed and burned. They just know it did."

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"Does it matter why? I couldn't handle it. I let them get to me."

Under normal circumstances, Josh would be pacing a hole in the floor, gesticulating wildly and running his hands through his hair. This sitting at my feet wordlessly is as troubling as the glass shards I just picked out of his fingers.

"So?" I prod.

"So what?"

"So, what did the President say?"

"Sam's staffing Him for the rest of the week and I have to write a position paper on how to keep my mouth shut."

"That ought to occupy every moment between now and at least Monday," I joke in an attempt to lighten the black mood that's descended over us.

From hurt in his voice when he replies with a clipped 'yeah,' it's clear my humor wasn't appreciated. Before I can make amends, he gets to his feet. "I'm going to go check on Elijah."

"Josh!" I call softly, but he's gone.

Elijah is fussing quietly in the cradle next to our bed. I gently lift him out and lay down against the pillows, nestling him to my chest. He's quieter than David. Whenever David wanted anything at this age, he screamed his lungs out – something he still does, by the way. Elijah is more like Donna, quietly waiting for someone to notice him.

"It's okay, Boo-Boo," I whisper, running my hand over his fine curls. "Daddy's here."

The way he nuzzles his face insistently against my chest makes me smile in spite of the darkness smothering me.

"Hey, I said Daddy was here. Daddy doesn't have those. You're looking for Mommy. Let's go get Mommy, shall we?"

Before I can even sit up, Mommy appears in the doorway.

"He wants you." I jut my chin toward Elijah.

Once she gets comfortable beside me, I hand him over. Lying there peacefully with Donna while she feeds Elijah somehow makes the troubles at work seem very far away and very inconsequential. I relish the brief respite from the chaos that has so recently dominated my life.

Now, if only I could figure out a way to make it last.

"Let's go away for the weekend," whispers Donna out of the blue.

"What?" I ask, sitting up to look her in the face.

"Let's you and I take a long weekend. Just the two of us," she repeats.

"Who's going to watch the boys?" I ask, still flabbergasted at the suggestion. As much as I'd love to get away, just the two of us, I don't see how we can. Not with an eleven-month-old and an eight-week-old.

"Maybe your mother can come up. She'd love to spend a couple of days, just her and her grandsons. She can spoil them rotten." Donna reaches out with her free hand and strokes the side of my face. "I really think we just need to take a step back, recharge ourselves, regroup and come back to all of this fresh."

She plunges ahead, taking my sigh as agreement. "We can leave on Friday morning. That gives your mother some time to get here, plus it gives you a chance to figure out a way to keep your mouth shut."

The way her eyes light up sells me on the idea. It wouldn't hurt to get away – just the two of us. I lean in to kiss her, silently thanking her for always knowing what to do when the world comes crashing down around me.

"I can think of plenty of ways to keep my mouth shut," I whisper, tempting fate by even hinting at engaging in adult activities – something we haven't done since before Elijah was born.

I should have knocked on wood. The words no more than come out of my mouth, than David starts crying.

"Can you teach a few of them to your son?" Donna chuckles.

I flash her my dimples and then go to the nursery to check on our oldest.

With Josh home, David's behavior improves immensely, leading me to wonder if some of our problems were caused by Josh not being able to take time off when Boo-Boo was born – an observation not lost on Josh's guilt complex.

He spends most of Wednesday at the kitchen table writing his position paper, breaking periodically to play with one or the other of the boys or talk to Sam on the phone and offer his opinion and advice on whatever topic Sam was struggling with.

Elisa arrives on Thursday afternoon and immediately sets about pampering her grandsons. By the time we're ready to leave on Friday morning, Grandma's got things well in hand.

We take the Mustang, leaving Elisa the Trailblazer with the car seats in it, in case she wants to go anywhere. Josh reluctantly hands me the keys to his baby, but since I refuse to tell him where we're going, he has little choice.

After some whining and an admonition from me that he's going to relax this weekend if it kills him, Josh settles back into the passenger seat and succumbs to the warmth of the sun streaming into the convertible.

He waits until we clear the beltway to again ask where we're going.

"Maryland," I reply, being intentionally vague.

I doubt his snort means he's satisfied with my answer.

Casting a quick glance at him, I can see he's got his eyes closed and is least pretending to relax.

Donna's circuitous route to our mystery destination makes me think she's been talking to my mother. When I was a little boy and I got too wound up to handle, Dad would plop me into the car and drive in circles until I fell asleep. It worked like clockwork then and even now, if I'm tired enough, I can't stay awake for more than 30 minutes in the passenger seat.

I wake up with a start when the car stops moving.

"Where are we?" I ask, turning my head back and forth to take in our surroundings. Donna's already out of the car.

There's a light blue colonial house on our left and a sprawling, lightly wooded yard to our right.

"Afternoon!" We're hailed by a grey-haired man walking up the driveway with a golden retriever at his heels. "You must be the Lymans."

My wife favors him with one of her beautiful smiles and introduces us while I shake the cobwebs out of my head.

"I'm Donna. This is my husband, Josh."

"I'm Terry." He offers me his hand. "Arlene is putting the finishing touches on the cottage for you. I'll show you the way back. It's a bit of a distance, though, you might want to just drive back there. Is this your first time to Tilghman Island?"

Terry hops in the backseat of the Mustang and talks non-stop as he guides us away from the main house to a small cottage with an expansive view of Chesapeake Bay. The dog, to whom we've not been introduced, trots along beside.

Arlene is a small woman with salt and pepper hair and an infectious smile. She gives us a brief tour of the cottage, explains how to work the fireplace, points out the hammocks down by the shore and tells us when breakfast is.

"If you need recommendations for dinner, just let us know. Otherwise, we'll leave you be," she finishes.

I carry in the luggage and Donna unpacks quickly. The closest thing to dress clothes she brought for either of us was a polo and khakis for me and a simple cotton dress for herself.

"How about we go for a walk?" Donna suggests when she's finished.

While I run and partake in physical exertion for my health, a pleasure walk is not on my list of things to do this weekend.

"Can I take a pass?" I have the good sense to feign a look of complete exhaustion – a feat that doesn't stretch my limited acting abilities. "I think I want to go investigate one of those hammocks."

I had hoped to use this weekend to reconnect with my husband, so I start to argue with him about the walk when I notice just how spent he looks. I know he thinks he's pulling one over on me, walks aren't on the top of his favorite activity list, but his horrible poker face gives away more than he's willing to admit.

He needs a nap in a hammock.

"Sure," I smile. Giving him a quick kiss, I start off, calling over my shoulder as I go, "Think about what you want for dinner."

The island is as beautiful and peaceful as I hoped it would be. As I explore the hiking paths, I'm reminded of the farmland around my grandparents', now mine and Josh's, home in Wisconsin. Not so much in a landscape sense, but in the feeling of renewal and hope I get when I spend time there.

During my pre-teen years, when the entire family would gather at the farm, it was inevitable that some of my more annoying relatives would set to teasing me about always having my nose stuck in a book. When I'd endured all I could, I'd set out for the small grove of trees bordering the fields where the dairy cows grazed. Grandpa had an old porch swing hung from gigantic oak tree out there and I'd curl up on it and devour whatever book I was in the process of reading.

Once I became a teenager, I became more interested in boys and music than books, but I'd still make my way out to the grove to play my flute for the cows. When I was done practicing, I'd sway on the porch swing and fantasize about Prince Charming coming to sweep me off my feet and end all my teenage angst.

Back then, I would have considered it a major let down that Prince Charming was taking a nap in a hammock while I was attempting to resolve his angst-issues.

Today, I consider it part and parcel of love and marriage.

As soon as Donna disappears up the path, I mosey over to the hammock and settle in with my hands behind my head. The dog that followed us over here whines once and then curls up under the hammock, as content as I am to simply stare at the bay.

I know it sounds completely out of character for me to be happy lying in a hammock, relaxing. Donna claims fresh air causes me to break out in a rash and I'm normally the sort of person who is only happy going 110 miles an hour, leaving conflict and chaos in my wake.

Except when it comes to water. Every year, my family would take a week-long summer vacation to a secluded spot on Cape Cod. It wasn't the country in the traditional sense of the word, but it wasn't the city. For one week every year, Joanie and I put away the acrimony that a six-year age gap caused and just had fun being playmates. We would spend all day, every day on the beach, building sand castles and swimming and being nagged by our mother to stay in her sight. Dad was always around, too, encouraging us in our every endeavor.

Even after Joanie died, it was the one trip we continued to make every year. I was less rambunctious without her, but I found the sea to be healing. The memories of Joanie I had from those trips were always happy ones of her teasing me while we built architecturally atrocious sand castles or of the hours we'd spent chasing one another up and down the beach. There were no memories of popcorn or fires or harsh words at the beach.

Today, just as I first did some 35 years ago, I inhale deeply of the salt-tinged air and exhale the bitterness infecting my life. The sea is the perfect antidote, reminding me of what is truly important.

Donna is important. David is important. Elijah is important. My professional ego is not important.

My family is the number one priority in my life and I need to stop falling back into old patterns. I need to get home by 7 o'clock most nights and spend enough time with my sons that they never question how much I love them. And I need to prove to my wife I'm worthy of her love and devotion.

That's something I plan to work on this weekend.

As soon as I wake up from my nap.

Josh is sound asleep in the hammock when I return from my walk. For the first time in two months, his face is unlined and his body is fully relaxed in sleep.

"Hey, sleepy-head," I murmur, bending over him and brushing his lips with mine.

"Hey," he mumbles in return, smiling without opening his eyes.

I take his hand and rub the back of it gently. "You wanna come inside and get ready for dinner?"

This time he opens his eyes and when he speaks, his voice takes on a timbre that I haven't heard in too long. "Not really."

"You wanna come inside and practice?"

"I'd rather stay right here and practice." Josh's grin defines mischievous.

He might be feeling better, but I think his imagination has run away with him.

"You want to have sex in a hammock?" I question with a cocked eyebrow.

"Why not? It could be fun." Josh pulls on my hand, trying to get me into the hammock.

I tug back in an effort to get him up. "Because with your luck, you'd fall out and break your back and I don't want you ending up in the emergency room on this trip. You're being punished by the President, how would CJ spin that?"

"Household accident?" smirks Josh.

"Yeah, 'cause that worked so well last time," I deadpan. "I'm going inside."

Donna lets go of my hand and takes off for the cottage. It takes a second and a half for me to consider my options and clamber out of the hammock.

"There's a coffee table!" I note loudly as I pass through the living room.

Along with a fireplace and a furry rug that may or may not be a real bearskin. Hmm… I've got a fantasy involving Donna and a bearskin rug.

"No coffee tables!" Donna calls back.

I follow her voice through the rustic cottage to the bedroom.

She's already naked, lying on the bed looking at me provocatively. Her body is as beautiful to me today as it was the first day I saw her naked. Thankfully, she no longer feels the need to cover her breasts; two children and breastfeeding have been most kind to her in that department. She's not as rail thin as she once was, but she's lost most of the pregnancy weight by taking long walks with Elijah every day.

"What happened to your adventurous side," I tease, stepping out of my shorts and boxers in one swift motion, leaving them lie in a pile on the blue carpet.

Donna shrugs one shoulder. "We're out of practice."

I stop with my shirt halfway over my head and laugh.

"Yeah, I guess we are. But I hear it's like riding a bike – once you learn, you never forget."

The polo lands on top of the shorts.

Josh crawls onto the bed, taking the time to prove he hasn't forgotten what he's doing by kissing his way up my body. Each faint white stretch mark gets special attention, causing a familiar tingling sensation to spread through me.

I sink deeper into the feather bed and relish his attentions. The reason I wanted to make love on the bed was because I didn't think either of us would last long and post-coital sleep is a near certainty.

It's easy to close my eyes and appreciate Josh doing his thing. His tongue in my belly button draws a sigh. The feel of his hands roaming my body is hypnotic.

The trill of his cell phone is the most invasive noise I've ever heard in my life.

It's probably Sam.

"Let it go," Donna moans.

The problem I have with letting it go is Donna customized the damn thing with different rings for different people.

Her cell phone is _We Are Family._

Leo's office is the Darth Vader theme from Star Wars.

My phone is presently butchering _Hail to the Chief._

Yeah.

Even though it's probably Sam calling from Charlie's phone, I've got to answer it.

With an aggravated sigh, I climb off the bed and dig through my clothes to find the damn thing.

"POTUS for Joshua Lyman." From the new voice on the other end, I gather He's hired yet another personal secretary.

"This is he."

"Hold for President Bartlet, please."

Shit. What the hell did I do now?

"Josh." He sounds equal parts amused and annoyed.

"Yes, Sir?" I reply, suddenly cognizant of the fact I'm standing in the middle of a rented bedroom, stark naked.

"I just got off the phone with Glen Walken."

All I can do is choke out a strangled "yes, Sir" because Donna is KILLING me.

President Bartlet pauses a second before continuing. "Your extended absence has been noticed and is the talk of the gossip mill on the Hill. The Speaker called me to ask if I made it a regular habit to punish staffers who stridently supported my policies despite their own personal beliefs."

"Sir?" I croak out. I'm not really paying attention to what he's saying because I'm about to lose control all over the hardwood floors of the bedroom. The "oh God, Donna" slips out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"I want to see you at 7 o'clock on Monday morning," He says, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. He's laughing by the time he tells me to say hi to Donna for him and to enjoy the weekend

"Donna!" Josh screeches, shutting the flip phone and dropping it on the pile of clothes.

I am evil. I freely admit it, but I want to say three things in my defense.

First, I was sure it was Sam because he's been calling from the phone in the foyer of the Oval Office all damn week!

Second, I wasn't listening to the conversation and third, I certainly didn't expect Josh to react quite so quickly.

"What?" I try to act innocent and retreat coyly to the bed.

My husband stands before me flabbergasted.

I can't wait anymore.

"Joshua," I breathe.

When we finish, Josh collapses on top of me, his breath coming in great gasps.

Gasps which quickly turn into sobs.

"It's okay," I coo, holding him tightly while I rub his back reassuringly.

I have no idea why I'm crying. I certainly didn't intend to. It just feels so good to be surrounded by Donna, to be in her arms, to be the number one focus in her life right now.

"I love you," I mumble when I finally get my emotions under control.

"Feel better?" Donna asks, wiping away the moisture from my face.

I nod and roll off her, but snuggle close to maintain contact.

There's very little talking the rest of the afternoon. We spend it basking in the sunshine streaming through the windows, taking brief catnaps before waking up and making love again.

It reminds me of our first weekend together as a couple. The weekend we got snowed in and had our life-altering conversation.

Donna laughs when I tell her that.

"Did it turn out the way you thought it would?" I ask as the sunlight starts to fade.

"Better," Donna states unequivocally, her fingers tracing my scars. "I've got a wonderful husband, two beautiful children, a good job and a plan for the future. What about you?"

"I have more than I ever dreamed was possible," I reply, propping myself up on my elbow to look deep into her blue eyes. "I figured it out earlier while I was in the hammock."

"Figured what out?" I silently pray he figured out what's been bothering him.

"What's been wrong?" he whispers.

"And?"

Josh brushes a stray hair out of my face before he answers.

"I lost sight of what is really important. I let work consume me. I let it take over my life."

The look on his face is so earnest I think I might cry.

"I let it get in the way of the number one thing in my life. I let it get in the way of my family," he finishes.

"Don't cry, Donna." He runs his thumb under my eye, catching the tears before they fall.

"I can't help it," I sniffle.

Darkness has fallen before either of us speaks again.

"What are we going to do for David's birthday?" Josh asks.

"You know the President will want to make a production of it."

"Thanks a lot, by the way," chuckles Josh, referring to earlier. "You know he's going to ask what you were doing."

"We could have a Wiggles theme." I love the Wiggles. David usually crawls away when I turn them on, but Josh doesn't need to know that.

"The Wiggles?" Josh's eyebrows are somewhere near his hairline and his voice got all squeaky.

"You know the Wiggles. Four Australian guys," I begin.

"Yeah. In the big red car with the annoying song that always gets stuck in my head. No. Absolutely not. Our son is not having a birthday party with a Wiggles theme! He can have a Spongebob theme." Josh is adamant about the Wiggles.

"Spongebob, eh?" I reach down to touch the silky skin of my good friend. "We can discuss it."

"How about I build a fire and we discuss it on the bearskin rug," suggests Josh.

"I'm open to negotiations."

Actually, I've had this exact fantasy, except it's set in a ski chalet in the Swiss Alps.

Starting a fire is a hell of a lot easier when the flue isn't welded shut. Once the small pile of tinder is crackling and giving off heat, I scour the kitchen to see if anyone left marshmallows behind.

"Nothing," I announce when I return to the cottage's main room.

Donna is reclining against the coffee table, wrapped up in a quilt she brought from the bedroom.

"It's okay," she says, holding out one end of the blanket for me. "It would probably get stuck in the rug anyway."

"Do you think this thing is real?" I ask once we're snuggled together in front of the fire.

"I don't know. If it is, I wonder how often they clean it."

I can't help chuckling as I press a kiss to her bare shoulder. "Should we suggest it when we leave?"

Donna takes my injured right hand and runs her fingers over the quickly healing cuts.

"I was terrified when Sam called Wednesday," she says, changing both the subject and the tone of our conversation.

"It was an accident. I slammed the door to my office and a picture fell. I cut my hand when I grabbed it to pull it out from between the wall and the desk." I intentionally gloss over the part where I warded off a panic attack.

"I know, it's… you've been on edge ever since Gaza and it… All I could think about was watching Jim Holtman's wife at his funeral with those two little boys who aren't ever going to remember their daddy…" Donna collapses into my arms, sobbing as uncontrollably as I was earlier.

"It's going to be okay, baby," I murmur into her hair, rubbing my hands over her arms, comforting her as she comforted me.

The parallels between myself and Jim Holtman never even registered with me. Early 40's, wife, two kids…

Donna snuggles closer, her sobs easing, and we both slip into a reflective mood. The anticipation of acting out a fantasy on this rug might have to wait.

"What are we going to do about the boys?" I re-initiate conversation once Donna's breathing evens out and the fire begins to burn low.

"Wait for them to grow out of it, I guess," Donna replies. "David was fine while you were at home the past couple of days. He didn't scream and cry every time you played with Elijah."

I noticed the same thing and I'm going to stick to the decision I came to in the hammock this afternoon.

"I'm going to start leaving at seven again. I'll talk to Leo and the President once the funding for the peacekeepers gets approved and see if we can't redefine the phrase 'national emergency.' And things at work will stabilize some when you come back on Monday. I won't be doing both our jobs."

"Chris and Debbie still haven't filed a damn thing while I've been gone, have they?" Donna's psychic tendencies get better with each child we have.

"Every day, Donna, I swear to God. I yell at them every day. They are genetically incapable of filing."

"Much in the same way you're genetically incapable of putting your dirty boxer shorts in the hamper?" retorts Donna, using her skillful fingers to tickle my sides. "Tell me, Joshua, is that a dominant trait you've passed on to our sons? 'Cause if it is, you're picking up after them."

Maybe my rug fantasy won't have to wait…

Next: Movin' Out (Samuel's Song)

"Josh, I'm moving to Chicago."


	43. Movin' On Up

Something smells good…

Something smells very good…

I inhale deeply, refusing to wake up too fast, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun on my face as it completes its journey through the bedroom window. Exhaling, I roll onto my side and snuggle deeper into my pillow.

I have no desire to get out of bed, but reality is waiting, hovering just beyond my cocoon of warmth, tempting me with the decedent smell of chocolate chip cookies.

Reluctantly, I pry my eyes open and glance at the clock: 9:30 a.m.

I haven't slept this late since… God, it's probably been since Josh and I got married. I refuse to count the weekend Josh and I spent in Maryland a couple of weeks ago, because we only ever slept a few hours at a time before one or the other of us would wake up and we'd work on stress relief.

The relative silence I'm enjoying is one of the major benefits of our little getaway. With Josh making a concerted effort to get home at a reasonable hour again, David's behavior has improved tenfold. He's sleeping through the night again and Elijah is flirting with doing so. In fact, we're going to have to look at fitting a second crib into the nursery soon.

Or we're going to have to move to a bigger place.

Pushing the thought of buying a house out of my head, I succumb to getting out of bed. We've got guests coming around noon and I promised Josh I would decorate for the party if he baked.

After a weekend of bickering, we finally compromised on a generic, non-theme party. No Wiggles, no Spongebob Squarepants, no stupid purple dinosaur, just bright colors and lots of balloons.

That I have to blow up.

Dressed in Josh's Tweety Bird boxers and a tank top, I meander into the kitchen.

Josh is standing at the counter, cracking eggs into his Kitchen Aid mega-mixer. David is crawling around at his feet, eating Cheerios out of a plastic container (and directly off the floor). Elijah isn't in the kitchen, but I spy the baby monitor perched amidst the baking clutter.

"You can't use just any flour. Oh no. Flour is the staple ingredient of almost all baked goods and if it's not the right kind, then the entire recipe is going to suffer," Josh pontificates as he dumps his top secret ingredients into the mixing bowl. "You could use that all-purpose stuff, but if you want people to really notice your baking, then you have to use soft flour. Now, there are different types of soft flour for different purposes. You've got your pastry flour and your cake flour. You'll notice I used the pastry flour to make the cookie dough, but for these cupcakes, I'm using cake flour."

David actually stops playing with the Cheerios and looks up at his daddy as if the crap Josh is spewing is the most important information in the world.

"Now, Mommy will tell you it doesn't matter what kind of flour you use, Bear, but trust me, Mommy doesn't know what she's talking about. See, your mother can't bake." Josh flashes me a smirk before flipping the switch on the mixer.

"That is true, Baby Bear," I bend down and pick David up, planting a kiss on his breakfast-smudged forehead. He had toast with jam. "But your mother was smart enough to marry your daddy, who can bake." I set him back on the floor and give Daddy a peck on the lips. "Elijah's asleep?"

"He's in the living room. I set up the baby gym for him."

"When did you feed him?" If there's one absolute truth with Boo-Boo, it is feed him before you attempt any sort of non-baby related activity, be it baking or sex, and speaking of sex can I mention just how hot my husband is when he bakes?

Josh dollops batter into the muffin pan. "About an hour ago. Remind me again of who all is coming?"

"Freddy, CJ, Sam and Maria, Toby, who said he might bring Andi and Charlie and Zoey," I tick off everyone who confirmed they were coming. "Plus the President said he and the First Lady might stop by with Leo."

"So you think the cupcakes might not be enough? I should make a cake, too?" I probably shouldn't worry so much about feeding everyone, as I should be concerned about where they're all going to sit. Our apartment isn't that big and we're going to have to start looking at houses before long.

Donna shakes her head. "Nah. I think between the cookies and the cupcakes and the ice cream, we'll be okay."

"I'm gonna put the birthday boy in the tub, then. Can you pull the cookies out and put the cupcakes in when the timer goes off? The cupcakes need to bake for 18 minutes." David was very enthusiastic about breakfast this morning. So much so that he's essentially coated in now-dried strawberry jam and bits of toast.

"Got you covered, oh mighty Iron Chef," Donna jokes.

While the tub in the boys' bathroom is filling with warm water and Mr. Bubbles, I add all of the bathing necessities: wash-mitt, plastic tugboat, rubber duck, sponges shaped like farm animals and the 64 ounce Big Gulp cup.

The easiest way to bathe David is to get in the tub with him, otherwise you'll just end up wet and frustrated.

Once there's about four inches of water drawn, I plop him in the middle of his flotilla of toys and climb in behind him, my legs helping to keep him upright. The kid loves the water. He'd sit in the tub until he shrivels up like a prune if we let him.

"Wa! Da! Wa!" he squeals, slapping at the water with his duck while I unscrew the cap on the Baby Magic.

Donna found these great wash-mitts things at the drug store; you just load 'em up with baby wash and voila – clean baby.

Nothing with David and me is ever that simple, though.

We do have a system of our own we've worked out and it goes like this: David gets to play while I wash myself, and trust me, if anyone at the White House ever finds out I'm scrubbing down with Winnie the Pooh wash-mitts and Baby Magic liquid bath soap, I'll never live it down. Once I'm clean, it's David's turn. Then I rinse us both off with the big cup and bath time is over.

The entire process typically takes almost an hour, meaning it's only bath time with Daddy on the weekends. Donna's process, while much faster, is a lot less fun.

But I've got a reputation to cement as the cool parent. A reputation that's the reason David is currently crawling around the apartment naked, dripping wet and giggling like a maniac.

"JOSHUA!" Donna bellows in a voice eerily similar to the one I use at work when I'm pissed off at our assistants.

"He escaped!" I'm hot on David's trail, equally naked and wet.

There's a lot more giggling when I manage to scoop him up and toss him over my shoulder.

"Aaahhh!" he shrieks happily, oblivious to the look of annoyance on his mother's face.

"Come on, Bear. Let's get you dried off and dressed. Then we can decorate cupcakes."

I can't help laughing and shaking my head once Josh hauls David down the hallway to the nursery. True to his word, Josh reappears shortly with our son, now dried and dressed. He plops David in the middle of the floor and asks where the cupcakes are.

"They're on the cooling racks," I tell him. "I'm going to get Boo-Boo and myself ready."

The apartment is decorated and there's nothing on the floor that David can choke on, so I grab Elijah and take my turn. After feeding Elijah, I strap him in the musical swing in the corner of our bedroom and jump into the shower.

By the time I've got both of us ready, it's nearly noon and someone is knocking at the door.

Josh managed to clear the living room of the more space-consuming baby paraphernalia, but it's still going to be a tight squeeze if everyone shows up. During our long weekend in Maryland, we did discuss the impending need to move, but I'm not sure how serious Josh was about it since we were joking about our almost otherworldly fertility at the time. Maybe I can pin him down on it after the party or tomorrow once I've buttered him up with Father's Day stuff.

"Hey, Freddy!" Josh greets my brother and ushers him into the living room.

Freddy thrusts a haphazardly wrapped gift at Josh once the door is closed. We haven't seen much of Fred since he started Georgetown last fall; he's been busy immersing himself in the college life. He did surface briefly before Elijah was born to ask Josh's help in getting an internship at the State Department this summer.

"Hi, Fred," I smile at him.

"How's the internship?" Josh asks, waves Fred to the couch.

"Great. It's really great. I'm learning a lot." Fred's poker face is about as bad as Josh's, but Josh doesn't see him; he's distracted by David pulling himself up on the coffee table, and Freddy quickly changes the subject. "Is he walking yet?"

There's another knock at the door and I leave Josh to reply to Fred's question.

"Where's the birthday boy?" CJ looks a bit disappointed that I answered the door with Elijah in my arms.

CJ has become a lot more interested in the boys since our youngest was born. In fact, all of our friends have gotten a lot more into our family since they witnessed Elijah's birth. Granted, they aren't standing in line to babysit, but CJ, Sam and Toby are no longer treating our family like pariahs the way they were around Halloween.

Toby's interest I understand. Andrea Wyatt is due with twins at the end of July and he's still actively pursuing reconciliation with her. Josh and I are as close to a normal family as Toby's ever been around, so he's been taking classes at the Lyman School of Marriage and Family.

CJ and Sam, though? I'm not sure I get their change in attitude.

"With Daddy. Where else?" I laugh.

Before I can close the door behind CJ, Sam and Maria materialize. They've been together just over six months now, but Maria's still bitter about the way she was treated during the State of the Union reception. She'll tolerate CJ because CJ wasn't there and Toby because he's Sam's boss, but the only people she's been willing to socialize with have been Josh and me – if you're willing to define socialize as: Josh and I had them over for dinner a couple of times before Boo-Boo was born.

Sam heads immediately for the couch where Josh and Freddy are still talking and David is now trying to scale his father's legs. He's going to be walking before we know it.

"I'll hold him if you want," Maria offers, gesturing to Elijah.

"Oh, thank you," I sigh, handing him over. Josh folded up the bouncy seat and crammed it in a closet to make extra room, so there's no place to set Elijah down without fear of him getting trampled.

"He looks a lot like Josh." This is the first time she's seen the baby, who, like his older brother, bears a strong resemblance to his father.

"Don't tell Josh that. His ego is big enough," I confide in my young acquaintance with a laugh.

The next knock on the door is Toby, sans Andi. He barely acknowledges Maria or me or anyone else as he beelines it for Josh.

I can't overhear what Toby says to him, even across our small living room, but Josh immediately gets up, gives David to Freddy and leads Toby into the nursery.

"She said no." Toby says with no preamble.

"She who said no to what?" I ask for clarification.

"Andi. Andi said no." Toby starts pacing. "I took Andi to see the house and she said no."

"No to the house?" I'm surprised by that. The house is fantastic: three stories, six bedrooms, right across the street from Lincoln Park. It's even got a little garden and a garage and Toby got it for a hell of a steal.

"No to marrying me again!" Toby almost screeches.

"Toby," I look at him with as much seriousness as I can muster. "Andi's turned down your marriage proposal every day for the past eight months."

"Yes, well, she said no to the house, too," Toby spits out. My friend looks devastated. "She said she already bought a house and I should stop trying so hard, because she was never going to marry me again."

"Ouch." She didn't even let him down easy.

"Yeah."

We stare at each other awkwardly for a couple of minutes before Toby speaks again. "You don't want to buy a monstrosity of a house, do you?"

I open my mouth to flat out say hell no before common sense kicks in. Donna actually brought up moving while we were in Maryland and she has a point. There's no way we can live in this apartment forever. It's almost too small already and David isn't even walking yet.

"Actually, I might…"

"You're serious?" Toby stops short and spins around to gape at me.

I nod. "You tell me how I'm going to fit another crib in this room and then tell me I'm not serious. Let me talk it over with Donna. I'll let you know in a day or two. Come on, it's my son's first birthday. Let's eat cupcakes and ice cream and open presents."

While Josh and Toby are sequestered in the boys' room, Charlie and Zoey arrive, filling the living room to capacity. If the President and First Lady show up, someone's going to have to go home.

"We've got the loot. Can we send them all home now?" Josh whispers, reappearing at my elbow.

"You're going to have to feed them cupcakes first. What's up with Toby?"

"I'll explain later," he promises. "I'm going to get the cupcakes and ice cream ready."

Josh heads to the kitchen only to be replaced at my side by Fred.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" my little brother asks.

"Sure. What's wrong?"

"Not here," Fred casts his eyes around the apartment before grabbing me by the elbow. "In there."

David's sitting on the floor playing with Sam's shoelaces and Maria still has Elijah. Okay, it's safe to duck out of the room for a minute.

"What's up?" I ask, closing the door to the master bedroom.

"I was wondering… I know Josh went to a lot of trouble to help me get my internship, but…" Fred frowns and pauses before continuing. "I thought it would be more than it is. All I'm doing is getting coffee and making copies. Every other intern is sitting in on meetings and is assigned to a foreign service officer. How pissed do you think Josh would be if I quit?"

"Are you being assertive with your coordinator about what you want to do?" One of the things I had to do when I was Josh's assistant was coordinate his interns. The ones who got to do things other than make copies were the pushy ones.

Freddy's expression reminds me of Josh when he's frustrated by Congress. "Yes! Everyday he tells me I can't do anything because I don't have a security clearance."

"He's telling you that you don't have a security clearance?" I'm dumbfounded because the FBI interviewed both Josh and me about Freddy as part of his interview process back in May. Mike Casper used it as an excuse to come over one night and see the boys.

"I told him I filled out the paperwork and filed it early, but he's saying the FBI hasn't brought it over yet."

This ought to be easy enough to get to the bottom of. I'll just call Mike on Monday morning and see what the deal is.

"Give it another week, Freddy. I'll make a couple of phone calls and get to the bottom of it," I reassure him. "Now, let's go eat cupcakes and sing Happy Birthday."

Charlie and Toby are helping me hand out plates when Donna and Fred emerge from our bedroom. I'm trying to keep this party moving before one of the boys suffers a meltdown; something that can happen in an instant.

Especially since David hasn't had a nap yet today.

Everyone gathers around the sofa and CJ takes the camera from Donna. Once I'm settled with David on my knee, Donna starts the singing of Happy Birthday.

None of our friends can carry a note except CJ, and she's so busy laughing and taking pictures she's not even trying to sing.

Donna lights the single candle on top of David's cupcake and holds it up so he can blow it out.

Or breathe on it until he exhausts all of the oxygen around the flame.

Once the candle's pulled out, Donna puts the cupcake in David's hands and he shoves the whole thing into his mouth, coating his face with chocolate frosting. CJ dutifully documents the mess so we can show the grandparents what they missed.

I'm unsurprised when he starts fussing when I try to wipe the frosting off his hands.

"Let's get down to the real business! Sam? Can you move the coffee table?" We'll be lucky to make it through the gift-opening without a temper tantrum.

Once Sam's done turning the coffee table into additional seating, I settle David and myself on the floor.

"This one's from Uncle Toby!" Donna announces, setting the gift bag in front of us.

Our friends' gift-giving skills have improved since Christmas. Almost everyone got him clothes or educational-type toys. For instance Sam and Marie got him this really neat Little Touch LeapPad with a puzzle and the President and First Lady got him a book club subscription, which they sent along with Zoey. All in all, they did very well.

Things get dicey when we run out of presents to distract David with and his crankiness takes center stage. It's a problem easily solved by Donna pointing out it is two hours past naptime and our guests take the hint. Before an actual tantrum could be launched, the apartment is cleared out and Donna and I are each getting a child ready for his respective nap.

"I know you're not really asleep."

Josh is stretched out on the sofa with his eyes shut. I had to feed Elijah before I put him down, so it took me a little longer than it did for him to get David to fall asleep.

"And just how do you know that?" He reaches up and grasps my chin gently, drawing my face toward him until he can kiss me.

"The kissing's a dead giveaway," I drawl when our lips finally part.

"Come here," Josh growl, grabbing me and pulling me down on top of him. Sex seems like a much better idea than talking about buying a house right now. Seeing as we haven't had sex in a week.

"You really want to do this on the couch?"

"Well, if you'd rather do it on the floor…" Josh slides us off the sofa onto the hardwood of the living room. The inelegant pile we land in sends me into spate of giggles, which he stifles by pulling my shirt up and licking my breasts.

"Joshua…" I moan. His touch feels so good after a long week of nothing but work and kids.

"Donnatella…" Josh breathes against the skin of my ribs.

"You know, there's a rug just over there."

Josh reaches over and drags the rug close enough so that when I roll us over, his back is on it.

"Feisty today, aren't we?" he smirks up at me.

"You're wearing entirely too many clothes," I observe, stealing one of Josh's favorite clichés.

"I can fix that." While he squirms his way out of his shirt, shorts and boxers, I shed my own shorts and underwear.

"This rug was a good idea," Josh says, licking and kissing his way around my stretch marks. Somehow, in the undressing, I ended up on the bottom again.

We got the rug from Josh's mother for Chanukah back in December and I doubt this was what she intended we use it for.

Our post-coital make-out session is much less frenzied then the sex it follows. There's kissing and cuddling and more kissing and touching that lasts until the baby monitor goes off.

Donna goes to get David while I look in on Elijah.

"Hey there, little man." I pick up my grandfather's namesake. He's not really awake and cuddles up against my bare chest, whimpering and sucking on his fingers.

"What would you think of your very own room?" I ask, rocking him back and forth. "Your Uncle Toby is looking to unload a really cool place. You could share with Bear for a while, if you want to. I mean, being all alone at night can be a pretty scary thing, even when you're a grown-up."

Boo-Boo just yawns and snuggles closer to me, melting my heart in a way that never gets old or feels girly.

"I love you, Elijah," I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of his head and then laying him back down in the bassinet.

Returning to the living room, I find David standing at the corner of the sofa, holding on to it with one hand and reaching the other toward me.

"Da! Ba! Ba! Da!"

"Hey!" I scoop David up and blow a raspberry on his cheek. "How was your nap?"

He regales me with the details in monosyllabic nonsense and wiggles until I set him down in the middle of the room and return to the sofa. Donna joins me as soon as she surrounds David with his favorite toys.

"What did Fred want to talk to you about?" I ask Donna once she's settled against my chest. It's going to be a lazy Saturday afternoon in the Lyman home; at the most we might go for a walk once Elijah wakes up.

"He hates his internship," she replies.

"Nothing new there," I say with a chuckle. I consider it my mission to drive my interns away from politics. Most of them are way too smart for their own good and why teach your best secrets to kids who are only going to wind up using what you teach them against you?

"His supervisor is telling him the FBI hasn't finished his background check yet."

"You want me to call Mike?" I yawn.

"Nah, I'll call him on Monday. No need to bring out the big gun so soon." Donna emphasizes the 'big gun' part by grinding herself against poor Spongebob.

"Be nice," I murmur, kissing her shoulder. "He's tired."

And so the rest of our Saturday goes: the four of us just being a family.

Sunday dawns hot, humid and rainy. None of which deters Josh from going out for his morning run. While he's out exercising, I get the boys up and survey the contents of the fridge. Today is Father's Day and I'm going to make breakfast, give Josh the tie I got him and then pour over the real estate section.

"I'm home!" Josh calls. Like the slamming door wasn't enough of an announcement.

I lean my head around the corner to look into the living room and he's drenched to the core.

"You're soaked!"

"I am, in fact, soaked," Josh agrees, squishing into the kitchen. At least he left his shoes by the door.

"Go drip in the bathroom," I order, laughing at his infectious grin – his face is lit up like a little boy who spent the morning playing in the mud in his church clothes. "Your son is going to crawl through that crap."

"What did he do?"

"Hmm?" I follow Josh into the bathroom, collecting the pieces of wet clothing he's shedding along the way.

"What did David do? You called him my son and you only do that when he's slobbered all over your good shoes or whatever."

"It's Father's Day, Josh. He gets to be your son all day today. Even when he's good," I concede, kissing a drop of water off his nose.

"It is Father's Day, isn't it? Did you get me a tie?" His level of excitement at the thought of getting a tie for Father's Day is disturbing.

"Do you want a tie?"

"Of course I want a tie! Ties are what all the cool dads get for Father's Day. Moms get those kitschy gifts, you know – like the plaster handprints and macaroni necklaces and that kind of stuff. Dads get ties or maybe cologne, but whichever it is, you get him the other for his birthday. And you got me cologne for my birthday."

Josh-logic.

"What?" Josh looks up from turning on the water. "Did you or did you not get your dad ties or cologne for Father's Day and your mother something hand-made in elementary school for Mother's Day?"

Oh God, he's right.

"Just shower. I'm cooking breakfast."

Josh smirks at me and then pulls the curtain closed. "You aren't making latkes are you?"

"Nope. I thought I'd try regular pancakes this time."

Regular pancakes turn out to be easier to cook than Elisa's secret latke recipe. Maple syrup, however, is significantly stickier than apple sauce and David is wearing a significant portion of what Josh tried to feed him. I document the mess using the digital camera my parents got us for Christmas. I'll email the pictures to all the grandparents tomorrow and keep copies for blackmail purposes when David's of dating age.

Once breakfast is cleaned up, I join my men in the living room. Josh is sitting on the floor playing with David while Elijah stares at them from his bouncy seat.

"Josh?" I call for his attention over David's giggling. They're building an architectural marvel out of the wooden alphabet blocks my sister sent for David's birthday.

Well, Josh is stacking blocks and every so often David knocks them over.

"Where's my tie?" He doesn't even look up and I pout at him until he does so and then reward him with the meticulously wrapped box.

It's not just any tie. It's a brown, tossed parquet, stain-resistant, silk tie from Brooks Brothers, to go with that khaki suit he wears on Thursdays that I'd like to burn.

"Cool!" Josh pulls the tie from the tissue-paper lined box. "This will go great with my tan suit! Thank you!"

All three of us get kisses in one of those moments that make me marvel at the devoted husband and father Josh has become over the past couple of years.

"What do you want to do today?" Donna asks, settling on floor with her back to the sofa and preparing to read the paper.

"I thought we could go look at a couple of open houses." I kind of want this to be a surprise, mostly because I love how she reacts when I get it right. While I was out one my run, I stopped down at the coffee shop and made some phone calls.

Donna looks startled at first, but quickly nods her head. "It's almost eleven, if we're going to go we should get ready. You get the boys ready and I'll get dressed."

It takes us almost an hour to get ready and out the door.

"I'll drive," I say, handing Donna the real estate section from the Post once David and Elijah are buckled into their car seats. "You see if there's anything in there you want to take a closer look at."

We're at the Capitol before Donna looks up from the paper. "There are a couple of row houses in Foggy Bottom that seem reasonable… Josh? Where are we going?"

"You remember the day that Boo-Boo was born?"

"Like I'm going to forget giving birth in front of half the staff?" Donna retorts.

"Before that, when I took David to Communications, Toby cornered me. Andi's dream house was about to go on the market and he wanted to make an offer. You know, get her the house as a testament to his love for her or whatever," I tell her.

"So you agreed to loan him the money."

"I did. And yesterday, he took her over there to give it to her and she turned him down."

"She turned down a house?" Donna sounds as shocked as I did.

"And his marriage proposal," I add.

"That's what he was talking to you about yesterday?"

"Yeah and then he kind of jokingly asked if I wanted to buy it and we had talked about how we were going to need to move soon, so I set this up."

By the time I finish my explanation, we're pulling into the driveway and parking behind Toby's battered old Dodge Dart.

"It's… Oh my God, Josh! It's… beautiful," Donna gasps, getting her first good look at the three-story brick home.

I'm stunned. This is the most gorgeous house I've ever seen.

I love the brick and the hunter green trim is a perfect accent. It's on a small lot surrounded by large trees and beautifully landscaped bushes.

"There's only a one-car garage, but it's better than we've got now," Josh says as he gets Elijah out of his car seat and I retrieve David.

Toby is waiting for us at the front door. "Please tell me you don't want me to play real estate agent."

"I think we can look ourselves. Did you bring the paperwork?" asks Josh.

With a nod, Toby opens the front door and ushers us into the entrance hall.

"Oh my God," I breathe. It's almost too much. It's something you'd see on one of those weekend home shows on TV, a showcase not meant to be subjected to a growing family with small children.

"There are four fireplaces," Toby clears his throat. For someone who didn't want to do the real estate thing, he's hovering pretty close.

The first fireplace is in the family room. Since the rest of the downstairs is occupied by a cavernous dining room and a huge kitchen with a breakfast nook, I presume the other three are upstairs.

"What do you think of the tin ceilings?" Josh points upwards.

"I think I'm overwhelmed."

We wander through the first floor, marveling at the view from the breakfast nook's bay window and the hardwood floors and the crown molding and antique light fixtures.

"The second floor is the master suite and two other bedrooms," Toby volunteers when we've wandered through every room on the main floor.

The master suite, which is the size of our apartment's living room, contains the second fireplace. The master bath has a claw-footed tub, a separate shower, a pedestal sink and is connected to the bedroom by a walk-through closet and a dressing area with a lighted vanity.

The two other bedrooms are smaller, but still bigger than what we have now.

"We could make one a nursery and the boys could share a bedroom until they're older," Josh suggests as we climb the stairs to the third floor.

Three bedrooms, slightly smaller than those on the second floor, take up two-thirds of the uppermost floor. The other third is what could be called a home office, but is in actuality a library. The walls are lined with built-in oak shelves and there's even a rolling ladder.

"Oh my God." I can't count how many times I've uttered that since we started our tour.

Josh is just standing in the middle of the room staring at the walls and turning in circles. He's as awed as I am. Even the boys are overwhelmed; neither of them has fussed since we got here.

Toby clears his throat. "There's a full, finished basement, too."

This place is far more impressive in person than it was in the photos Toby showed me after he bought it. I'm surprised neither Donna nor I has dropped a kid yet out of shock.

The basement is fully finished into three separate rooms: one that looks it like might have been used as a den or play area, a laundry area and the final room looks like it was a home gym.

In the backyard, there's a small patio overlooking the garden and a small pond. The rain has stopped, so we're standing on the deck while Toby waits in the house.

"Well, what do you think?" I ask Donna.

"It's…" she shakes her head. "I can't believe Andi turned it down."

"That wasn't quite what I meant."

"Can we afford it?" she asks.

Donna has never asked for too many details about my trust funds. She knows they exist and she knows roughly how much money is in them, but, outside of ensuring I set up college funds for the boys when they were born and that we have a nest egg for retirement, she's never indicated an interest in the specifics.

"Our accountant thinks if we put another $200,000 down, then we can make the mortgage payments on our salaries."

"What about the farm?"

"The land rental income covers most of the farm mortgage and what it doesn't is paid for by one of the funds," I give her the information she's asking for.

"I just… it's an awful lot of house. What do we need with six bedrooms and four fireplaces?" As impressed as she is, she's getting cold feet.

"We could get one of those fake bearskin rugs to put in front of the fireplace in our bedroom and you know… make enough babies to populate six bedrooms," I suggest, waggling my eyebrows.

"We are pretty fertile, aren't we?" Donna giggles.

"And we can always turn the basement into a couple more bedrooms if it comes to that." I probably shouldn't be joking about that; with our track record, it'll happen. Hell, with our track record, Donna's probably already pregnant.

"Are you sure you're okay with this, Josh? I mean we only talked about this once and we were both joking around…"

"We both know that apartment is too small. How are we going to get a second crib into the nursery? It just happened to dawn on us at the same time Toby needed to unload this place. What could be more perfect?"

Donna doesn't say anything at first. She moves David to her other hip and tucks a stray hair behind her ear and looks around the small backyard.

"We can look at other places if you want to…" I offer. I don't want to push her into this place if she doesn't want it.

"We're going to have to buy more baby gates and the pond is going to have to go," she finally says, her face lighting up with that special smile I get when I've gotten it right without any prompting.


End file.
